


Tarry Yet Awhile, Lover

by Dillian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Angst, Bisexual Tony Stark, F/F, F/M, FrostIron - Freeform, Gender-fluid characters, IronFrost - Freeform, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-04-11 20:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 72,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: "Blighted by the hand of God..."- King Henry VIII, speaking of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon."Oh Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon.  We have the stars."- Bette Davis, speaking to Paul Henreid, inNow VoyagerThe marriage between Thor and Loki is an unhappy one, but it is one they hope to maintain, in order to protect the fragile alliance between their two countries.  When the merchant, Tony Stark, arrives on a visit to the court at Hlidskjalf, a connection forms between him and Loki.  Both of them married to another, neither wants it, but neither can break away, until the time comes for Tony to return to Midgard.  Afterward, there are consequences that both must deal with, for having allowed themselves to grow so close.





	1. No Sting so Sharp, as Friend Remembered Not

**Author's Note:**

> I'm adding a clarification: Thor knows that Morgan isn't his, but he doesn't care all that much, since he believes Morgan is never going to be able to sit on the throne of Asgard. The problem is going to come when he finds out that Morgan has inherited Jotun powers, because of course he doesn't want a bastard to be his heir.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,  
> Thou dost not bite so nigh  
> As benefits forgot:  
> Though thou the waters warp,  
> Thy sting is not so sharp  
> As friend remember'd not.  
> Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:  
> Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:  
> Then, heigh-ho! the holly!  
> This life is most jolly.”  
> \-- William Shakespeare, As You Like It

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Sif**   **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It is late morning.  If All-Father is displeased, at being brought from his council chambers, it does not show on his face.  He has always been foolishly over-generous with this, his son and heir.

“See what she has done, Father?”  Thor’s voice is angry. The petulant tone of a child who has always gotten his way.  In contrast, the woman beside him is silent. She does not look like she wants to be here.  Thor hustles her forward, he gestures toward her head.

The Lady Sif’s head shines golden, hair cut close, like that of a convict’s.  Knowing Sif, she might be happier like this. Since childhood, she has always been donning boys’ clothes, to go adventuring with Thor and his friends.  Perhaps she found her womanish blonde hair troublesome.

Thor’s voice, still angry:  “You _know_ she did it, Father.”

“I know nothing of the kind.”  Odin prevaricates, for, in truth, his son is right.  Since her arrival at Hlidskjalf, Loki has unfortunately made her name, with secretive acts of petty mischief.  Odin sighs. He looks at Sif. “Is there evidence that it was Loki?”

Thor opens his mouth to interrupt.  His father raises a hand to stop him.  He continues to look at the maiden. “Well?”

“None,” she says.  

“Is there ever?”  Thor’s words burst out.  “Loki is devious. But I know her, I see the look, that is always in her eyes when she sees the Lady Sif.”

It was jealousy, as it has been since Loki and Thor were married.  Loki probably saw the look that comes into Thor’s eyes when he sees the Lady Sif, and she was angered.  This has happened with other women, too many times before.

Odin takes a breath.  “May I remind you, son…”  He stops. Thor is of an age to be king now.  He should not have to be reminded of anything.  But, this is his heir. In a few more years, he must leave the land he has governed, this many years, in his hands, the land he loves more than he loves his own life.  “Thor, your wife has certain rights…” Stopping again, he gestures to Sif. “Go speak to my wife. She will help with your problem.”

His beloved wife, Frigga:  Daughter of the mystical realm of Vanaheim.  Her magic is learned, not innate, as is Loki’s.  It is sufficient, however, to give Sif an illusion, at least, of the golden tresses she once wore, until they have grown back in truth.

Odin waits until the sound of a latch marks Sif’s departure.  Then, turning back to Thor, he speaks. “You must honor your marriage vows, son.”

Thor is sulky now.  He mutters into his chest, “This is no marriage.”

“Speak up.”

Raising his voice, “Laufey gave her to me to cement an alliance that is no alliance.”  Thor’s voice grows louder, as he throws statement after statement at his father. “There are skirmishes every day on the border with Jotunheimr.  Are you telling me Laufey knows nothing of them? And if Loki is my proper wife, she should bear me a child. Where is that child, Father? I must have an heir.”

Loki is fertile.  This, the Aesir know, by an unfortunate means.  There was an incident right after she arrived at Hlidskjalf:  A giant would have carried off the Lady Freya, to be his wife, had Loki not assumed the form of a mare, and lured his horse away to copulate.  That there was issue from that match, proves she can bear children. That she was willing to do it, proves her loyalty to Asgard. Nonetheless, it was undignified; Odin has watched as his son’s behavior to his wife changed, after it happened.

“Perhaps if you spent more time with her?”  The mildest of reproaches, when Thor’s dalliances grow more and more.

It is met, of course, with more anger.  “Should I, Father?” Thor demands. “Why?  This is a false marriage, cementing a false alliance.  I would have done with lies.”

It is a marriage that could cement an alliance that is fragile, but growing stronger by the day.  Thor should know this. He too has access to the reports that show that Laufey punishes all Jotnar who dare make sorties across the border.  After many years of war between the two realms, the King of the Jotnar is understandably suspicious, but his trust grows by the day. With care, this could become a lasting peace, a good gift for future generations, on both sides of the border.

Why can’t he get these things across to his son?  There is a fear, that is always at the back of Odin’s mind:  Thor is too young to remember what it was like, when Asgard and Jotunheim were at war.  He never had to do battle in that freezing waste. Odin remembers the pain of frozen armor, against his body.  Worse than that, he remembers Asgardian foot-soldiers, cut down by the foe, falling into puddles of mud, mixed with blood and ice, to die there.  He hears again the screams of wounded horses, and the moans of dying men.

This is why peace is so important:  No man should have to look forward to a fate like that.  And yet this young hothead of a son speaks of war so casually.

Odin’s fingers tighten on the armrest of his throne, knuckles whitening with tension.  “You will return to your wife, Thor.” His voice is soft.

“And if I won’t?”

Cutting his son off, he continues.  “Am I not your sovereign Lord? You _will_.  And you will give her your honor, your attention, and your intimacy.”  Thor’s stubborn face frustrates his father more and more. Now he is the one growing angry.  “You say she gives you no heir? How can she, when you are constantly off, dallying, with other women?  I say you will return to her, and you will treat her as your wife should be treated. Our alliance with Jotunheim may be fragile, but it is important.  I worked too hard for it, to allow it to be thrown aside on the whim of a spoiled child.”

__________________________

All-Father’s tantrum was but one of many.  He has it in his head that Asgard and Jotunheim can be allies, as if man and giant can ever life side-by-side as friends.  He has it in his head that Loki, the shapeshifter who is both son and daughter to the King of Jotunheim, can settle down to be the wife of a mere man.

Thor climbs the stairs alone.  It is his father’s order, and he must obey it.  He must reconcile with his estranged wife.

Above the ground floor, the music starts.  A complex tune, flawlessly executed: It is Loki, of course, playing the virginal that Thor’s mother caused to be purchased for her, one of so many attempts to calm her restlessness.  She enjoyed the gift, taking to it as she does to all the diversions that are given her, practicing it, mastering it with ease, and still remaining restless, as before. There is something in a giant’s heart that cannot be satisfied, Thor has learned, no matter how much is given.

Reaching his wife’s chambers, on the first floor, Thor pauses.  He touches the door. He should knock, he knows. It would be polite, since the music has no doubt covered sound of his approach.  At the thought, anger fills him, though. A man should not have to beg entrance from his own wife.

Pushing the door open, Thor enters.  Just for a moment, he sees Loki as she was before his arrival:  In casual dress, her bodice loosened, only her white linen shift underneath, sleeves rolled to the elbow, to allow her hands free motion.  Ivory fingers raised high, above keys only slightly paler, her head bent, the gold mesh that constrains her dark hair glinting, in the light from an open window.  Then, becoming aware of his presence, Loki jumps up. Her hand goes to her throat in a gesture of nervousness, but is it feigned, or real?

“Husband.”  For the briefest moment, her voice is breathless.  Then her movements still, and she is again the controlled Princess Loki.  She gives him a cool smile. “To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

If he ever knew her true nature…  If he ever could know… What is this woman that he has married, is she the lady wife she appears in public, or the turbulent giantess, and creature of disorder, who has caused so much mischief since arriving in Asgard?  Is she… Could she be? ...Just once or twice, for a few brief moments, when she had first arrived, Loki appeared to be something else entirely, a comrade, with whom Thor could relax, as he does with friends from childhood, and a lover, whose embraces were tender, and felt sincere.

Sometimes thoughts of that Loki come back to him.  They make him brusquer, and more irritable, with the one he sees now.  “Do I need a reason to visit my wife?” Regrettably, his words come out clipped.

“Some husbands would.”  For her own part, Loki has an edge to her voice.  “Some would not. So much depends on context, does it not?”

As controlled as if this were a court event, Loki moves from her instrument, to take a seat on the chaise near the window.  She gestures toward the place next to her. “For you, if you wish it.”

Thor does not.  Loki is not above causing pain in small, childish ways, pins, finding the place between vest and breeches to draw blood, and the like.  Not wishing to return to All-Father unsuccessful, however, he takes the seat.

Loki’s face is inscrutable.  “How, pray, does the Lady Sif do, this morning?”

Thinking about the shock, when first he viewed her shorn head, Thor represses a frown.  How should he deal with this? What would Father, who is so eager for him to embrace this treacherous wife, have him to do?  Choosing dishonesty for his response, “She is well,” he says.

“I’m sure she is.”  Loki’s voice is amused.  “And Mistress Foster? How fares she?”

Mrs. Jane Foster was a lady of Loki’s bedchamber.  She was intelligent, a good companion. She was Aesir, despite having spent some years in the colonies, and she thought like an Asgardian, and behaved like one.  There was never anything between her and Thor, though, for all Loki thought there was, and the child that swelled her belly, some months after she started serving Loki was that of her eventual husband.  Try explaining this to an angry giantess, however. Try explaining anything to one.

“Mistress Foster is quite well, I am sure.” Thor stops.  Another attempt: “May I speak honestly, Wife?” he says.

Loki’s face resumes its blank mask.  “Had you not been, until now?”

“I spoke to my father today.”

“All-Father.”  Loki’s smile appears almost genuine.  “Our beloved King. I pray his good health.”

“He had words to say about you, Wife.”

The mask slipping, Loki appears to tense.  “Yes?” Is this finally truth, or only another pretense?

“I would end this estrangement between us.”

Now Loki appears fully honest.  “You would end it because All-Father tells you to, Thor.  No doubt he threatened your chance at the throne. Be realistic, you will get the throne regardless, there are no other heirs.  Go back and play with your mistresses. Plow Jane Foster in her husband’s bed, or wherever you two like to do it, or why not go hunting with Sif, as the two of you do so often?”

“Loki!”  There are lies in what she says, truth, mixed with lies.  As always, Thor feels powerless to distinguish between the two.  How to speak of truth to a giantess? How to get close, to someone who holds you away so resolutely?

And his wife looks at him, her smile cynical.  “Yes, Husband?”

“I need an heir.”

“You will get one in due time,” she says.

Thor feels a sudden, brief flood of anger.  If she tries to foist some giant’s byblow off on him…  Pushing his emotions back, he makes his tone gentle. “How will we, Loki, when we spend so little time together?”

The response he gets is brief:  “There will be no heir then, I suppose.”

Looking around his wife’s room, Thor understands some of what lies behind the quick response.  He and his wife have very different interests. Books pile the tables in here, and crowd a bookshelf set, recessed, away from the window’s light, that would fade leather bindings.  Sheafs of music are stacked elsewhere, magical implements crowd into what little space is left. Loki lives as all ladies do, in Frigga’s court, a life in which scholarship, and magical mastery are as important as protocol.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that this does not have to be so.  Loki has, still, the shape-shifting powers that are part of her giantish heritage.  He thinks about the possibility that, perhaps, a _Prince_ Loki might have been his friend.

“We married too quickly after meeting, Wife.”  Thor speaks slowly, trying to sort out the ideas that are coming to him.

Loki, for her part, merely gives a cynical laugh.  “Water under the bridge at this point, surely?”

But, having conceived the idea, Thor must now give voice to it.  “No, I believe it is not. I married too quickly, and I expected too much of you.  You are not an Asgardian woman, and should not have to live as one. You must live…”  No one has ever pretended that Thor was an eloquent man. Now he turns, taking his wife’s hands in both his, trying to show the sincerity and the good will that he cannot properly put into words.  “I would give you a chance to express your giantish nature,” he says, “to be more than a mere woman, living the narrow life at court.”

“You would give me the chance to mother more foals?”  At least now, the edge in Loki’s voice sounds genuine.  “To embarrass you in front of your friends?”

“I was wrong to be embarrassed before.”  This, at least is true. The next of what Thor says is not; he hopes against hope that Loki will believe it, though.  “If it happens again, I will give you understanding. For now, though, I was speaking of another shape.”

Loki’s eyes say that she knows exactly where truth ended and untruth began, in her husbands words.  She does not mention it, however, but merely asks, “Another shape?”

“The shape of a man.”  This was the idea that was in Thor’s mind.  “Of a friend,” he says, “a companion.”

“Someone to drink with you and your friends, nights, in the tavern?”  Loki’s voice is neutral, at first. Gradually, amusement warms it. “To hunt bilgesnapes with you, at dawn?”

Seated next to Thor, suddenly, is his friend Fandral.  But in truth, it is his wife, who has assumed his shape.  “Is this what you had in mind, Thor?” Loki asks, “or this?”  The chaise groans, as Volstagg’s weight presses upon it, where Fandral had been a moment before.  “I am hungry,” says Loki. “By Odin’s beard, it has been at least five minutes since I ate! ...Or perhaps you meant this shape.”  Just for a moment, she is Sif. A malicious Sif, her cropped hair even shorter than in reality, and her behavior all the more mannish.

Keeping his patience through these giantish antics, Thor suggests, “I meant your own shape.  How did you appear when you were in Jotunheim?”

The figure that is next to him now is that of a young man.  Dark hair, and a pale, composed face, not so very different from that Loki wears as a woman.  It is different enough, though. None will take this quiet youth, with his modest, black-and-green clothing, for the Princess.  Thor and Loki will have the freedom they haven’t had before, to get to know each other properly, and, hopefully, a bond will grow between them.

Thor smiles at his new comrade.  “That will do nicely.”


	2. Tell Me, Where is Fancy Bred?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me where is Fancy bred,  
> Or in the heart or in the head?  
> How begot, how nourishèd?  
> (Reply, reply)  
> It is engender’d in the eyes,  
> With gazing fed; and Fancy dies  
> In the cradle where it lies.  
> Let us all ring Fancy’s knell:  
> I’ll begin it, —Ding, dong, bell.  
> (All) Ding, dong, bell.”  
> \-- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral, Skurge, Tony Stark**   **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Riding out to follow the bilgesnape, with the world still full-dark on all sides, Loki thinks of his homeland.  It is only on days such as these, that Asgard bears any resemblance to cold Jotunheim. That land of perpetual winter, where no human can survive, is barely supportable even to a giant’s constitution.  Loki thinks about what it felt like to leave, to go to Asgard, where it seemed like the sun always shone.

Once, it seemed that his husband shone, just as golden as the sun.  Thor thinks, mistakenly, that he can regain this place in Loki’s estimation.  Any fool would know this is impossible, but Thor is stubborn. For now, though, at least there is peace between husband and wife.  Man-Loki relaxes with Thor, as his lady self could not. He joins in his amusements, boring though some of them are.

A call from ahead:  “Come, Loki, the bilgesnape!”

As a game animal, the bilgesnape is not worth much.  Their taste is poor, and they are too ugly to make a good trophy.  They are a challenge, though. Asgardians seem ever to love a challenge.

Loki spurs his mount forward.  Ahead, he can hear, first the confused noises of the dogs, and then, also mingled in confusion, the voices of the hunters.  “They have the scent.” That’s Volstagg. “If we let them off their leads.”

“I’m not letting a bilgesnape savage my hounds,” gruff Hogun growls.

Then Thor’s voice, casual, faintly amused as always.  “Are your animals so ill-trained, my friend? Keep them leashed, then.  We will go on foot, as they follow the scent."

“What about him?”  Volstagg jerks one pudgy thumb backward.  Normally, he would be talking about Loki. Of all Thor’s friends, this fat lummox is the only one who cannot seem to reconcile the guise Loki now wears, with that he wore when first he arrived in Asgard.  The others move comfortably between giving the lady Loki the respect she deserves, as a Princess, and treating this one, the young man, as the comrade he has become. Volstagg, however? He merely is rude to both.

This time, for once, there is another who has earned the fat warrior’s disrespect.  He is one Anthony Stark, of Asgardian heritage, but born in the colonies. He is a seafaring man, a merchant by trade, but with that of the piratical about his nature, as is needed, to ensure the safety of his ships.  Stark vouchsafed the night before, when first mention was made of the upcoming hunt, that there are no bilgesnapes in Midgard. Since then, Volstagg has gone out of his way to treat him with the most patronizing condescension.

Stark, for his part, seems more amused than offended, and responds by making the most ridiculously ignorant comments.  “I grow hungry…” This, he said about an hour ago, just two hours into their search for their quarry. “How I look forward to roasting this delicious bilgesnape, when we are back at Hlidskjalf!”  Volstagg’s irritable comment to the sally was enough to make a cat laugh. To his credit, though, Stark has been considerate to his hosts, and has kept his jokes sotto voce, so as not to alert their prey.

Looking to his side now, Loki notices that Stark is riding alongside him.  In truth, he handles his mount clumsily enough, part of the reason, perhaps, that he has earned Volstagg’s condescension.  His head is bare, hair cut much shorter than men wear it in Asgard. His beard is shorter too, trimmed in a way that must be the style in Midgard.  Stark gives Loki one of the smiles that seems to come so easily for him. “You’ve fallen behind along with me. Dare I venture to hope that I am not the only poor rider in the party?”

Loki has been trained in riding since the cradle.  As in Asgard, so in Jotunheim as well, nobles are expected to spend much of their lives in the saddle.  It would be rude to insult a guest of All-Father by pointing this out, however. He returns the Midgardian’s smile.  “Perhaps I am not interested in hunting bilgesnapes.”

“And why not?”  Stark has a good face, heavily tanned, always with that friendly smile, and a warm light, in his brown eyes.  “I hear tell from our friend Volstagg that they are quite delicious.”

“A toothsome delicacy.”  Loki cannot help smiling back.  “Would you like to see what they are really used for, Friend Stark?” he offers without thinking.  “I can show you.”

__________________________

Spending time tete-a-tete with the Midgardian was never his intention, but now Loki has committed himself.  Having brought their quarry to ground, Thor and his friends have all gone off to celebrate this marvelous feat by getting drunk, at a tavern in town, and Loki and Stark are alone.  As they ride back toward Hlidskjalf, at first the conversation moves easily. Gradually, though, their voices quiet.

There is a tension, growing between them, something so palpable that one can almost see it, or smell it; perhaps that would be a better analogy.  It is a fragrance, faint at first, as when one senses the presence of roses, without quite being able to be sure if they are there or not, but growing, gradually, until it nearly overwhelms.  Loki finds himself noticing details: Stark’s hands, on the reins. They are strong hands, brown, like his face, and very rough. The hands of a man who works for a living, rather than live the easy existence of a courtier.  He notices the muscles, swelling his coat-sleeves, the breadth of the shoulders that are revealed, when his cloak blows backward.

For his part, Stark seems to be noticing things as well.  He keeps glancing over at Loki, and the looks he gives him…  Princess Loki would know how to interpret those looks. She would be flattered, but she would have to content herself with doing nothing about them.  Princess Loki is married to the future King of Asgard. Her body must be given only to him, that she can give him a true heir for the Throne. As a young man, Loki is more free.  He can pursue the meaning of those glances Stark keeps giving him, even if they lead unto the bedchamber. There are men who lay with other men. Is Stark one of those? What would that be like?

“The bilgesnapes…”  Their journey has proceeded in silence, almost to within sight of Hlidskjalf, wheen Stark finally breaks the silence.  He is trying to maintain his usual joking tone, but there is a new hoarseness in his voice. “You said you would show me.”

“It is quite a sight.”  Loki clears his throat, surprised by to hear hoarseness in his own voice too.  :A fascinating array. Truly, they are beautiful animals.”

Loki pictures the trophy room on the ground floor of Hlidskjalf.  It is deserted, half-dark, always shrouded in silence. No eyes would see anything that transpired there, save for the glass eyes of the stuffed bilgesnape trophies that line the walls.  No ears would hear, save theirs… _There are men who lay with other men_ , Loki thinks again, and he swallows.

“I still think we should consider eating that bilgesnape.”  Loki has already dismounted. Stark, now, quits his own horse, with Skurge’s help.  “It can’t be much worse than our fare at sea.” Most men would have been embarrassed at having such clumsiness with a horse be witnessed by another, but Stark seems not to care at all.  He regains the ground… His height is several inches shorter than Loki’s, which also seems not to bother him at all. “I could tell you stories. Skippers, Loki, have you heard of those?”

“Skippers?”

That feeling that was almost a fragrance is still there, swoonfully powerful now.  That, and the mental picture of the dark, deserted trophy room, that fills Loki’s mind.  Their casual conversation is a lifeline, but Loki can barely hear it anymore, over the pounding of his heart.

“Maggots?  Perhaps you've heard them called thus?”  Stark, for his part, seems perfectly comfortable, the earlier hoarseness gone from his voice now.  “Also, there is a reason why sailors drink so much rum,” he says. “It is because of the poor quality of our drinking water.”

“Midgardian drinking water.”

They’re walking through the grand hall of the palace, now, deserted too, at this early afternoon hour.  Odin is working, no doubt, Queen Frigga is probably with her ladies-in-waiting. Thor, is in town, Loki thinks, with a feeling like relief, along with his loutish friends, all of them celebrating their tremendous victory over yet another bilgesnape.

Why should there be relief?  What matters it to anyone, what Young Man Loki does?  He cannot bear another man’s child, after all.

Stark has continued talking.  “You think your Asgardian water would survive a sea voyage?”

 _Your_ Asgardian…  But of course, Stark knows nothing of Loki’s identity.  To him, he is merely an Asgardian, of noble birth. Playing the role he has been given, Loki speaks lightly.  “Everything Asgardian is obviously superior to anything from any other of the Nine Realms. Our water…”

They have turned into a secondary hallway.  The trophy room is up ahead. Loki feels his palms sweat.

“And your bilgesnapes, of course.”

Loki’s hand leaves a visible smear of sweat on the door, as he pushes it open.  “Of course, that goes without saying.” He speaks quickly, leading Stark into the trophy room, before he can see the mark.  Pushing the door shut, “And our men,” he says. “The Aesir are naturally superior to men of any other realm.”

“Your men?”  Loki has not moved away from the door, when Stark turns to face him.  He is trapped against the door now, or it feels that way, Stark looking up at him, with an interested expression, and that warm look in his eyes.  “Why your men, in particular?”

“Why not?”  Surely Stark must hear Loki’s heart now too, for it is pounding loudly enough.  He must hear it, he must respond. How long are they supposed to keep up with the pretence that this is a mere conversation?  “I could have chosen anything,” he says, “our women, our men, our infants, even. Tell me, Stark, do you really think your Midgardian men can measure up to the Aesir?”

Stark gestures, indicating his height , compared to Loki’s.  “I suppose it depends what is being measured.” He takes a step back, and turns, facing the room.  Gazing up at the walls, he gasps, audibly. “So many bilgesnapes!”

The lightening of the atmosphere is at once a relief, and terribly disappointing.  Something had been about to happen, up until a few moments ago. Did Loki want it to happen?  Would he have regretted it, if it had happened?

“Are we supposed to just leave the bodies on the ground after we kill them?” he asks Stark.

“But really, why?”  The other man is still staring upward, his eyes going from one mounted head to the next, all around the room.  “After a certain point, how many trophies do you need?”

How many indeed?  This is a question that has tormented Loki time and again, all the more, since he was married to Thor, and came to Hlidskjalf, as one more trophy.

“The Aesir are an acquisitive people,” he says.  “One day perhaps I will also show you Odin’s Treasure Room.”

“I would not want to get you in trouble with All-Father.”

Loki cannot explain to this outsider, why he is allowed to make free with the possessions of the Royal Family.  Instead, “We will go undetected,” he says, which is true enough, as far as it goes. “I know some secret passages.”

Stark pulls his attention, a little unwillingly, away from the bilgesnapes.  “Is it as interesting as this?”

“It is a Treasure Room.  What more need I say?”

“Of course, _Treasure_.”

They have seen the bilgesnapes.  Now, there is no reason to remain in the trophy room.  Nonetheless, though, neither of them makes an effort to leave.

“You aren’t like the other men in Asgard,” Stark says.

Loki makes an attempt to prevaricate.  “I am not like the other men anywhere,” he says.  In his mind, he is thinking about his dual nature.  Stark, not knowing this, of course, takes his words differently.

“Sometimes I don’t think I am either,” he says.  “I don’t mind it so much, at sea. At sea, we all have to take different roles, men being men, men being women, women being men too, sometimes, whatever is needed at the moment.  On land it’s different.” For the first time, Loki hears a faint note of bitterness in his voice.

There is still that promise between them, waiting, as yet to be realized.  They both tried to step away from it, but why bother? Why not give in? “Can you really say that we are on land right now, though, Stark?”

“We are in a trophy room.”  Stark’s voice changes, no bitterness, the faint hint of something warmer than friendship.  He’s giving in to what’s between them too now, isn’t he? “Are you saying that’s not land?”

“Does it look like land?”  Loki gestures at the bilgesnapes on the wall.  “Do you really think there are land creatures, as ugly as those?”

“I have a wife at home.”  Stark has not given in yet, but he is beginning to.  “I would not hurt her, Loki.”

“Never.”  Loki stifles the instant anger he cannot help feeling at this “wife at home.”  He has a husband too, he reminds himself, and he dare not anger him too far. “But she is in Midgard,” he says, “and we are here.  And really, Stark, is this place land, or sea?”

“If we pretended it was sea, what would happen?”  Stark takes one of Loki’s hands in both his. He turns it upward, tracing the lines in the palm.  “You have very soft hands,” he says. “The hands of a noble.”

“Your hands are those of a seafarer.”  The feel of Stark’s hands is rough, and the scars…  Oh, the scars… An impulse surges in Loki’s chest: He wants to put his mouth against these rough, scarred hands.  As if he could eat them up, and they’d be his, forever.

“They’re the hands of a peasant.  My mouth is soft, though.” Stark reaches up, cupping Loki’s face between his two rough hands, pulling it down, so they are at the same level.  Their lips meet in a kiss that is sweet, tender, and too, too terribly short. “We had better get back to the court, hadn’t we?” When Stark steps away, his voice is uneven, and there is regret in his eyes.

“I suppose.”  Loki hates the court, he wishes it were at the bottom of the ocean.  ...Where, unfortunately, Stark the seafarer would probably find it. He wishes that everyone, from the highest member of the Royal Family, to the meanest sculleryman in the kitchen, were dead and rotting.  But he is used to doing his duty.

“I have business to discuss with All-Father,” Stark says.  “My charter needs renewing, and I would negotiate better terms.”

“Of course.”  Loki’s voice is his usual, cool voice.  “I would not keep you from that.”

“Perhaps we could come back here again sometime?”  There is wistfulness in Stark’s voice.

“Perhaps.”  Loki fights the wistfulness that instantly surges through him in response.  This Midgardian will prove to be a disappointment, as is everyone else in his life.  And yet, if he does not expect too much… “It is, after all, not really land in here,” he says.

“Neither land, nor sea, but a place between worlds.”  Stark reaches out and squeezes Loki’s hand again, just for a moment.  Then he turns, leaving quickly.

Loki lingers a little, before following him out.   _It smells like Stark in here_.


	3. O, Word of Fear, Unpleasing to a Married Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When daisies pied and violets blue  
> And lady-smocks all silver-white  
> And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue  
> Do paint the meadows with delight,  
> The cuckoo then, on every tree,  
> Mocks married men; for thus sings he:  
> ‘Cuckoo;  
> Cuckoo, cuckoo!’ O, word of fear,  
> Unpleasing to a married ear!
> 
> When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,  
> And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,  
> When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,  
> And maidens bleach their summer smocks,  
> The cuckoo then, on every tree,  
> Mocks married men; for thus sings he,  
> ‘Cuckoo;  
> Cuckoo, cuckoo!’ O, word of fear,  
> Unpleasing to a married ear!”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Love’s Labours Lost

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Thor, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Loki** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

“A fair, in the countryside?  Tony, we can go, can’t we?”

One of the things Tony has regretted on this visit to Asgard, is how little time he’s been able to spend with his friends, Jim and Peter.  As owner of the Stark Mercantile Company, his welcome at Hlidskjalf was assured. His friends were not so fortunate. It is not their comfort that has been stinted; he has paid a visit to the inn where they are staying, and it’s accommodations for them are most satisfactory.  In his view, though, they are deserving of far more dignity. He would have it that they, as well as he, should receive their due.

Tony’s own responsibilities at Hlidskjalf are finally over.  All-Father has granted him the second charter he sought. Now both he and Jim are authorized to sail under the flag of Asgard.  New ships will have to be prepared. Where before, Tony’s own craft, the Mark VII, protected the two smaller vessels, with their load of manufactured goods, bound for Midgard, now Jim too must have a ship of his own, and smaller vessels as well, to protect.

Business is not quite out of the way yet, for the trip.  Goods will still need to be purchased, for their return to Midgard.  Fine furniture, from the cabinetmakers in Asgard, gowns, from the nimble fingers of Vanaheim, and a million other things.  So many transactions, yet to be accomplished, but for now, they can wait. Today, apparently, there is a fair.

Peter is past one-and-twenty, the accomplished veteran of many sea voyages.  And yet, all it takes is the promise of fun, and he is a boy again. Tony looks into eyes alight with enthusiasm.

“Can we go, Tony?” Peter asks again.  “Please? It’s such a beautiful day.”

In truth, the autumn weather is magnificent.  Cold though it is in early morning, now, at 9:00 AM, the sun is bright, and a crisp breeze invites a man to venture outside.

“You’ve been indoors too much lately, Tony.”  Jim sides with Peter. “What exercise have you gotten, beyond that hunt for…  What were they again?”

“Bilgesnapes.”

Jim and Peter laugh.  Tony has told them about the hunt.  He described the bilgesnape itself, in all its ridiculous ugliness.  He told of Thor, and his enthusiastic fellow-sportsmen. His friends were particularly taken with his description of Volstagg.  “The unspeakable, in full pursuit of the inedible,” he called him, passing off the quip, which he’d heard from Loki, as his own.  Much of what he told him was colored, so much, by Loki’s perceptions, and yet he was the one detail of the hunt that Tony left out.

In truth, he did not know how to talk about Loki.  Not that his friends had not seen him with men a few times.  Jim, who knew him before his marriage to Virginia, has seen him with both men and women, but Peter too, has seen enough over the years, that he would have understood if there had been a dalliance.  This had been no dalliance, but instead an attraction. Their only contact was a few touches of hand to hand, and that one kiss, and yet…

How does one speak of someone who is barely an acquaintance, and yet one dreams about them at night?  How can one explain about a single kiss, that somehow leaves more lasting impact than any full night of debauchery?

A picture fills Tony’s head again, at the mere mention of the word “bilgesnape:”  A silent, darkened room, row upon row of glass eyes, staring down from the walls. A slim young man, with shining dark hair, and a soft voice.  And that kiss…

“I still maintain that we should have eaten the bilgesnape,” Tony says, lightening the mood for his friends.  “How bad could it have been? Remember the salt pork we ate, when we were becalmed east of Barbados?”

“I remember you telling Peter that gunpowder would drive the skippers out,” Jim says, laughing.

“To be fair, I tried that as well.”  Tony joins in his friend’s laughter.

Peter, laughing too, chimes in:  “I will say, it tasted better _with_ the gunpowder than without.  And who knows,” he adds, “perhaps bilgesnapes are a taste treat, as yet unknown.”

 _His friends:_  Their company warms Tony’s heart, and it relaxes him.  What a relief it will be when he is all done with court life, and back at sea with them.  No more bilgesnapes, and fools who would drag him out to hunt them, no more secretive young men, and stolen kisses, in out-of-the-way locations.  No more Loki…

Tony pushes even the name out of his mind, and wills himself to return to the present.  Looking again, into Peter’s eager eyes, “You shall have your fair my friend,” he tells him.  “Business can wait.”

__________________________

The last time Tony visited an Asgardian fair was in early childhood, before his family emigrated to Midgard.  Walking the country road into the village where this one is being held brings back so many memories. He hears the vendors:  “Hot pies here, come, get your hot pies!” “A fairing for thy sweetheart?” “Lads, come, try your luck!” There is the noise from a traveling puppet show, Punch, doing his eternal war with Judy, and the eager laughter of the audience.  There are the smells, food cooking, mingled with the odor of the livestock being sold. There is color everywhere, parti-colored mummers’ costumes, brightly flowered calico and glittering glass jewels, in the merchants’ booths.

Peter, who was born in the colonies, has never seen such a thing before.  He wants to be everywhere at once, and finally, Tony and Jim let him proceed on ahead.  “I’ll be back at the inn tonight,” he calls to them, as he goes off.

“He won’t, you know,” Jim comments to Tony.  “Probably he’ll get drunk, and lay with a farmer’s daughter in a hayrick, and sleep the night there.”

“You’ve done worse, as have I,” Tony says, acknowledging the truth in his friend’s words.  “We were all young once.”

Tony, for his part too, feels unwarranted excitement, far more than he would have expected, from so small a fair.  It is bracing to be outside in the fresh air, getting exercise, after too many days indoors, at Hlidskjalf. He looks around, taking in sight, sound and smell, trying to decide where to proceed first.

“Food I think, first, Tony.”  Jim, beside him, makes plans aloud.  “A pork pie, perhaps, or two maybe. And ale.”  He points ahead, indicating a tent, crowded around with men holding tankards.

Tony licks his lips.  Indeed, their walk was a dusty one, and a draft or two of fresh country ale would not come amiss.  With his friend, he proceeds toward the tent.

__________________________

When he hears the familiar voices, Tony’s first impulse is to quit the tent.  Why? It matters not, surely, if friends from the two parts of his life should meet?  And after he has told Jim so many stories, about Volstagg, and the bilgesnapes…

Tony’s gaze finds Thor at the bar.  “A pitcher of ale for my friends and me, my lovely chick,” he tells the alewife, a blowsy woman, easily two-score and ten, or more.  She responds with the love All-Father’s heir receives wherever he goes, an agreeable reply first, followed by the giggle of a girl, when he leans in to buss her on the cheek.

From a table near him, comes the voice of one of the others.  “ _One_ pitcher only?”  The humorous voice belongs to blond Fandral.  “Why, Volstagg will finish that in one swallow, and then what will the rest of us drink?”

Tony looks at the table.  Fandral is there, yes, and burly Volstagg, silent Hogun, and the warrior-girl, Sif.  And there, sitting slightly apart from the others… He swallows. There is Loki.

The wave of longing that surges through him at the sight, confuses Tony.  What is he longing for? And why? He glances to his left, where Jim sits.  He would not hurt his friend for the world, but suddenly he wants him gone, far, far away.

“Tony, are you well?”  Jim’s worried voice.

How could he possibly explain to his friend, what he does not understand himself?   “I have an impulse to disport myself this afternoon,” Tony says. It is not quite a lie.

Jim has to have noticed the direction of Tony’s gaze, but he is too good a friend to make comment.  Instead, “Some local beauty has caught your eye?” he says playfully. Indicating the alewife, “Her perhaps?” he asks.  “You would take your turn after her blond friend is finished?”

“Her blond friend is Prince Thor”  Tony owes Jim this much information, at least.  “And his friends are with him, the ones I told you about, from the hunt.”

A true friend, these many years, Jim takes in the information quickly, then sallies forth from the tent. “There is enough to do at a fair, to keep me busy, surely,” he says.  “There are players, and musicians. And, have I said how much I long for a taste of Asgardian rock?”

“Every time we buy sugar from the men of Nidavellir.”  Does his response sound distracted? Tony strives that it should not.  “And then you always comment on how, since we grow sugar cane in Midgard, we should just make our own sugar, and candy, there.”

“As we should.  Farewell, Tony.”  Jim takes his leave.

Tony, for his part, moves to greet Thor and his friends, at their table.  Most welcome him pleasantly enough, including him quickly in their badinage.  In spite of himself, there is one welcome only, that Tony awaits.  It comes, once the other voices are raised again, in loud conversation.  Loki’s voice, pitched so only the two of them can hear: “You’re back again, Stark?”

“Like a bad penny.”  Tony looks into Loki’s face:  It is completely immobile. No emotion there, not even in the eyes.  “Did you think Volstagg had driven me away?”

“The bilgesnape.” Loki’s voice is different too.  It’s cooler than the last time. “They can be dangerous, and you are but a weak Midgardian.”

“A Midgardian man.”  Loki’s voice should not be different.  Tony knows he should keep his own words light, playful, but how can he, when Loki treats him as if he were a stranger?  “Loki...” He wills himself to be silent, not daring to say more.

“Stark?”  A change comes over  Loki’s face. At first, it is the same as before, cool, and expressionless.  He lifts one eyebrow, ironic inquiry. Then his green eyes darken. He looks away.  “Why did you come back, Stark?” His voice is quicker now, and intense, so intense. “You shouldn’t have come back.  We’ll both be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have accosted you here, I know.”  Where is their playful spirit from the other day? Where are the games, the pretense, of the room between worlds?  “There are no bilgesnapes here,” Tony attempts. “I know that means this is land, not sea.”

“I joke not.”  Loki sounds near tears.  “This is more complicated than you know.”

“Then tell me.”

Loki’s voice hardens, as he responds, “I will not.”

After this, Loki rises.  He makes excuses to the assembled party.  “The close air… I feel faint.” Thor would go after him, but he is assured this is not necessary.  Tony, however, does follow.

“You stupid, Midgardian fool.”  They are out in the fair now, booths on both sides.  Voices do not need to be kept so low out here, the voices of fair-goers and merchants obscuring anything they say.  “You come here, with your games, and your jokes.” Loki walks quickly between the booths, until he comes to an oak tree, then he turns, looking at Tony.  “You don’t understand how things are.”

Tony doesn’t understand, and what’s terrible, is that Loki doesn’t understand anything about him either.  Before, this didn’t matter, though. Why does it matter so much now?

“I want to tell you something, Loki.”  Tony sits on the bench under the tree. After awhile, Loki joins him.  “My wife at home, her name is Virginia. I am home, one, perhaps two months out of the year.  The rest of the time she is alone there, and it is not civilized, as it is here."

Loki’s body is still stiff, but his voice sounds more accommodating now.  “Why do you tell me this?”

“I would make things easier for her,” Tony continues, “but I cannot stay there with her.  A merchant must go to sea, if he would make the money he needs to live. And so I leave her there…”

“And you are unfaithful sometimes, with men such as me?”  The words are insulting, but there is no sting in Loki’s tone.  Instead, it is thoughtful. “I have made vows as well,” he says, his voice slow.  “I have never broken those vows, Stark, but sometimes I ask myself, why not?”

Does it break those vows, if all they do is look at each other, and talk?  Does it break them if they kiss, even? Surely a vow worth its salt could not be broken so easily.  Tony tells himself he is keeping his faith with Virginia, and that Loki too, breaks no vows. Even as he thinks this, though, he knows it is not true.  Heart can touch heart too, as well as body touches body, and just as much can change too, as a result. Some things, though, cannot be resisted. They are there, like air, light, or water.

They bring joy too, like air, light and water.   If the harm has been done already, why not celebrate the joy?  “I would not have you break any vows for me,” Tony tells Loki, knowing it is only half a truth.  “Had I known you would be at the fair today, I’d not have come, but you are here, and I am. Can we not share the hour?  After that, you will go back to your life, and I to mine, and we will both have something to remember.”

“Some of us are not made for the joys of life.”  Loki’s face his shadowed, his voice has a somber note to it.

It is more than Tony can do, not to break this mood that has fallen on him.  “You speak so? How ridiculous. Come!” Taking Loki’s hands, he pulls him from his seat.  “Let us have fun at the fair.”

Loki has never watched Punch and Judy before.  He has never thrown coins to a traveling minstrel, and when he tries the cheap wooden lute at the instrument-maker’s booth, he strikes music from it, lovely enough to be heard at court.  He laughs at the jesters’ quips, and eats Asgardian rock, until his face is sticky, and when he stops, with Tony, at the fairing-booth, his eyes light on a green glass brooch there, as if it were the finest of jewels.

“Do you want it?”  The thing is the merest trifle, costing a shilling, worth maybe a tenth of that.  But, if it puts a smile on Loki’s face, he shall have it.

“No.”  His eyes say that he does.

“I’ll buy you something,” Tony says, “and you shall buy something for me.  I warn you, I want the most expensive thing in the booth.”

That does it, Loki is smiling now.  “How expensive could that be?” He surveys the display  of fairings. “Nothing here is worth more than a penny or two.’

Of course, the seller immediately pipes up, touting the value of this gimcrack and that one.  “Take this val-yoo-able knoife…” He holds up a blade that would not cut butter. “Me good gents, look and see:  Tell me this is not worth the guinea I ask for it.”

“I would not give you more than a shilling.”  Loki looks at Tony. “Tell me, Stark, do you want this so val-you-able knoife?”

Tony gives him smile for smile.  “A man can’t have too many val-you-able knoives.”

Is it shameful that they exchanged kisses, along with the fairings?  Two small kisses, not much, in the grand, broad scheme of things. But, that they were all Tony thought about, while he fell to sleep that night…  That, perhaps, is a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The unspeakable, in full pursuit of the inedible..." I shamelessly stole Oscar Wilde's line for Loki, here. Forgive me. It seemed just as appropriate for Volstagg chasing a bilgesnape, as it was for English lords, hunting a fox.


	4. A Wight of High Renown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “King Stephen was a worthy peer,  
> His breeches cost him but a crown;  
> He held them sixpence all too dear,  
> With that he call'd the tailor lown.  
> He was a wight of high renown,  
> And thou art but of low degree:  
> 'Tis pride that pulls the country down;  
> Then take thine auld cloak about thee. ”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Othello

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Malekith, and assorted unnamed Svart men, Tony Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

A pale hand, holding an ornament of green and gold.  Glass and brass merely, but it makes a brave show. Loki’s lips curve upward, a smile of amusement.  Midgardians are funny. “I’ll buy you a fairing,” Stark said, “and you shall buy me one.” And that ridiculous trinket he chose.  A knife, but such a knife! He laughs again, at the thought.

Naturally, his own fairing must be put away.  Loki of Asgard would not wear such, not the young man, comrade to Thor and his friends, and certainly not the Princess.  Opening his jewelry box, Loki removes boxes containing pearls, gold, set with rubies and diamonds. All the glister and pomp of the ornaments that belong, traditionally, to the consort of Asgard’s heir.  The green-and-gold fairing is laid gently in a bed of velvet, at the very bottom of the box. Is he hiding it? Would it be so very surprising if he were? Giants are known for their deception, are they not?  In truth, though, he means only to protect it. What was it Stark said yesterday? “We shall share this hour? After that, you will go back to your life, and I to mine, and we will both have something to remember.”  Who will be harmed, if Loki saves the trinket, as token of his hour of happiness?

There is a knock on the door.  “Are you there, Loki?”

Setting the jewelry box to rights quickly, Loki puts it to one side.  He assumes the form of the Princess. There is a state dinner tonight, and she must prepare.  Raising her voice, to be heard through the heavy oaken door, “You may come in, Husband,” she says.

Thor is half ready, hose, breeches and codpiece in place, but wearing only a shirt above that.  He, of course, looks magnificent. When has Thor not looked magnificent?

Loki still has all her preparing to do.  She will summon her tiring-women, they will assist her into her clothing, put on her make-up, and do her hair into the stiff, formal style required for a state event.  For now, though, like her husband, she is in a state of undress, her only clothing the linen shift she sleeps in, loose enough to be worn either in male or female form.

Things are easier between the husband and wife now, which is pleasant.  “How fares my lovely wife this evening?” Thor comes to Loki’s side and takes her hand, kissing it with an enthusiasm somewhat beyond what would be appropriate at court.

Thor is always most charming when he is most enthusiastic.  These are the times when Loki still can’t resist him, despite all that has passed between them.  As soon resist a puppy, bounding over to put muddy paws on one’s skirt, and say hello.

“I am well.”  Loki eyes her husband up and down.  “Is this your attire for the evening, Thor?  Do you plan to set a new style, tonight?”

Stark would respond with railery.   _Loki must not think about Stark tonight._  Nonetheless, it comes somewhat amiss when her husband’s response is completely literal.  “You know I leave the new styles to Fandral. He is so much better at them. My doublet is still waiting in my room.  It fits tight, today. Too many pork pies at the fair, yesterday.”

“Too many tankards of ale, rather.”  Thisfairly pedestrian style of teasing is what Thor always prefers, and it is easy enough to fall back into the habit.  “Volstagg had help, drinking up all the alewife’s stock, I am sure.”

“We missed you, toward the end of the afternoon, Loki.”  Thor has sat down next to her on the bench at her dressing table, now.  He still holds her hand, playing with the fingers, occasionally kissing one or another.  “Were you having fun?”

“Stark was showing me the sights of the fair.”  Loki walls off any emotion that might be caused by her words.  Let there be facts only, to give her lawful husband. She is with him now, and that is good too, in its way.  “There was so much more to it, than just that stuffy ale-tent. You would have been surprised.”

“I have gone to Asgardian fairs before.”  Thor’s face falls. “I should have shown you the fair myself, Loki.  Of course you had no idea what you would see there, when you grew up in Jotunheim.”

“We have our fairs in Jotunheim, too.”  Dismal though they are, in that unfriendly environment.

“I am sure they cannot be like Asgardian fairs.”  Thor, with his easy assumption that of course everything that belongs to him must be the best.  His homeland, with their fairs, and his friends, and his wife. And yet, it is easy enough to fall into the habit with him, and Thor is pleasant company, in his way.

“Naturally, everything Asgardian is best.”  If Loki hears an echo of teasing words, said to Stark a day or two ago, she pushes it away.  This is simpler teasing, Jotun to Asgardian, and it evokes a smile from Thor.

“Loki, I’m so happy we reconciled.”  The words are heartfelt; Thor is always so quick to give full honesty.

“I am too.”  This much, at least, is full truth.

“You have been a good comrade, these past weeks.”  Thor puts his arm around Loki’s waist, where it lies, heavy, and pleasantly warm.  “I hope you enjoy having more freedom?”

Loki has more freedom than anyone at Hlidskjalf.  Even Queen Frigga, who holds power second only to All-Father himself, cannot move as she does, between a woman’s life of magic, and a man’s, of action.  In truth, it is pleasant living this way. And, if there is still deception required, what of it? Loki is a giant, and giants are creatures of deception.

Thor’s body is strong, well-muscled, like Stark’s.  This body is Loki’s alone, though, there is no “wife, back in the colonies.”  Thor has no divided loyalties; Loki can enjoy his embraces unreservedly. She leans her head against her husband’s shoulder.  “You have been good to me.” Turning to look up at him, her green eyes seek those blue, blue eyes of his. “Your clever idea has given me the freedom I craved, and it has mended the connection between us.”

“Mended it?”  Thor’s lips brush Loki’s.  Warm lips. If they are not quite as sweet as Stark’s, what of it?  They are sweet enough, and they belong to Loki. Another kiss, deeper this time.

“As if it had never been damaged.”  Loki puts her arms around her husband’s neck, drawing him close, and then there are more kisses.

__________________________

Full-court dress is a cumbersome thing.  One does not feel like a human, so much as a walking ornament.  All of Loki glitters, her hair, carefully dressed, and woven with pearls, and her face, painted, as a portrait, her gown, rigid, over corset and farthingale, and the ruff, two wired, and stiffly-starched wings of white lace, towering high, to frame her face.  Beneath the gown, her shoes too, glitter. Tiny, painful little court shoes, unsuitable even for dancing, appropriate only to show the glory of All-Father’s family.

It is not as though Loki would have had much more comfort as a man, though.  Walking beside her, Thor is corseted almost as rigidly as she. His breeches are ridiculous, pumpkin-shaped balloons, and his codpiece…  Uggh, how Stark would laugh at that codpiece. Surely they do not wear such nonsensical garments at sea.

At the head of the table, All-Father sits, looking as though he were wearing his own throne.  Seated on his left side, Frigga must be equally uncomfortable, although, with the innate grace of the Vanir, she manages to appear at-ease.  Loki scans the rest of the table: Odin’s most honored guests sit here. Thor’s friends, the Warriors Three are here, and Sif, whose golden hair, she notes, with just a trace of malice, is still much too short for beauty.  The delegation from Svartalfheim is here, five men in dour black, their smug faces showing that they know full well, the power that the gold brought from their new colonies has given them.

Ugly men.  Loki thinks about stories she’s heard of Asgardian ships fighting Svart ships at sea, and taking their gold.  Has Stark fought the men of Svartalfheim? And did he take much of their gold? _Good_ …  She must not, _not_ think about Stark tonight.

Thor and Loki take their seats at Odin’s right hand.  Thor looks at his wife. There is that in his face, that speaks of the hour they spent together, before they dressed for dinner.  It is a satisfied look, echoing caresses, and pleasure given and received. It is a warm look too, remembering the words of love that were spoken again, that felt, then, at least, almost as true as they had when they were first married.

_Such happiness can never be maintained._  This thought too, Loki pushes from her mind.  It can be… It _must_ be.  Why should there be a limit on how much happiness a person can have?

Odin rises, so covered with gold that it is as if the entire throne were to stand upright.  He seems made of gold and precious stones, the entire might of Asgard, embodied in this one man, smaller than some.  He looks around the table, that face of his, that holds wisdom and love, as well as Kingly arrogance, and raises bejeweled hands.  “My friends, my loyal subjects, and esteemed guests, welcome.”

Thor puts a hand on Loki’s, and, in an undertone, speaks.  “What are we celebrating tonight?”

Naturally he has not taken the time to find out.  “It is a dinner in honor of the delegation from Svartalfheim.”

“Religious fanatics.”  The words sound like they taste bad in Thor’s mouth.

Loki hides a smile.  “Your father would say you still have a lot to learn about diplomacy, Husband.  The Svart are very wealthy, and very powerful. It would well behoove Asgard to be on good terms with them.”

“It would well behoove them to be on good terms with us.”  Thor is still so simple, his thinking, so black-and-white. And yet, when he frowns like that, flexing his muscles, as though he can’t wait to start breaking Svart heads, he can be so compelling.

“There is a reason why I call you the Thunderer, Husband, and it is not only for the noises you make after a large dinner.”  Cloacal humor, the lowest humor there is, and yet they both laugh.

“Anything else we can expect, Wife?”

“I believe there are some more guests too.”  Loki searches her memory, but there are no more details about the evening.  She has too many distractions in her life anymore; they keep her from her responsibilities, and she is unprepared.  Would she give up any of the distractions, though?

“More guests?  I hope the others are agreeable.”  Thor throws another angry look at the black-clad figures across the table.  Loki’s heart warms. This simple, hot-headed man she is married to is yet so lovable.

__________________________

Dinner at these state events is a painfully protracted affair, with foods chosen for magnificence, rather than for enjoyment.  Tray after tray, roasts, heavy with gilding, spiced meats, put back into the skins of the animals they once were, and arranged so as to look alive.  Set-pieces, gingerbread castles, with blancmange moats, marzipan figures, on battlements, and crossing the drawbridge. Tray after tray, and food after food, and from each dish, one must take a bite.  Servers constantly coming behind, pouring spiced wine, the liquid necessary, to quench thirst awakened by all the food.

Thor, of course, eats like a hungry schoolboy.  It is one of his endearing qualities. Down the table, as usual, his friends make pigs of themselves, and, at their own spot, the Svart men, also, put the food away like they haven’t seen food since leaving Svartalfheim.  Perhaps they haven’t; perhaps their religion has required a fast. Loki too, eats, and drinks, somewhat more than is necessitated by mere politeness.

Finally, though, the food is eaten, and the dishes cleared away, save for a few small plates of raisins and nuts, and a tray of golden oranges, a gift from the King of Svartalfheim, in the center of the table.  Again, Odin rises. “My friends, I would do proper honor to each of my guests, by introducing them.”

First comes the delegation from Svartalfheim.  One by one, Odin introduces them, stumbling over the harsh, difficult to pronounce names.  Next comes a smaller group from Nidavellir, less important, as everyone knows that land of farmers is under thrall of the Svart.  After this, there are some Vanir cousins of the Queen’s, and then the Asgardian guests are introduced. Finally, just when Loki thought him done, Odin speaks again.

_Stark._  He is the next one Odin introduces.  “A merchant, and more than a merchant.  Son and heir to Howard Stark, founder of the Stark Mercantile Company.  A seafaring man, and a hero…” Stark is all that? His scars speak of trials overcome, but, that All-Father should choose to single him out…  Stark is more self-deprecating than Loki had thought. If some men had done enough to receive such accolades from their Sovereign, they would have shouted it to the rooftops.

The Midgardian comes forward from where he’d been seated, at one of the lesser tables.  His court attire, of red-and-gold, is just slightly unkempt, the ruff a little loose, the tie on one high-heeled court shoe undone, laces trailing.  Why must she continually be surrounded by untidy men, Loki thinks, her heart warming? She pushes the thought away. She has had her hour with Stark, now he will go home to the “wife in the colonies.”

“Recently, I gave a second charter to the Stark Mercantile Company,” Odin begins, then to be interrupted.

A harsh sound, chairs being pushed back, one falling over.  The entire Svart delegation is on their feet. Their leader, Malekith, steps forward.  “This man should not be honored.” His accent grates on the ears. “He is a pirate.”

Just for the barest second, Loki allows herself to feel the thrill that goes through her.  She has exchanged kisses with a pirate?

Odin’s voice:  “He is a privateer, licensed by the Crown of Asgard.”

“Two ways of saying the same thing.”  Malekith points toward the door. “I want him out of here.  Queen Alflyse will not be pleased when I tell her you gave welcome to such.”

“I did no more than any sailor must.”  Stark _never_ loses his aplomb.  His words are firm, and his face?  It bears the same relaxed, humorous expression as is always there.  “I defended my ships. Was I to allow Svartalfheim to send them to the bottom of the sea?”

“Lies!”  Malekith again.  “Svartalfheim is at peace with Asgard.  We would not have fired on a ship flying Asgardian colors.”

“Enough.”  Odin gestures the Svart men back into their seats.  “Stark is an honest man,” he says, “and an Asgardian.  I will not have him maligned. He has done great service to Asgard, by provisioning our colonists, these many years.  He deserves to be honored.”

“Is Father going to knight him, do you think?”  Thor speaks, from Loki’s side. “Remember how clumsy he was on his horse, when we hunted the bilgesnape?”

“Shhh.”

Loki watches, as Stark kneels before his sovereign.  His easy grace, kneeling in his heavy, court costume, speaks of the well-muscled body beneath the clothes.  Loki thinks about seeing that body, clad only in shirt and breeches. Stark bows his head, light shining off his short dark hair.  He submits, as Odin’s sword touches him, first one shoulder, then the other.

“Rise, Sir Anthony Stark.”  Odin takes one of Stark’s hands, clasping it for a moment, in both of his.  “A man such as you does credit to the Crown he serves, Sir Anthony.”

“Thank you, All-Father.”  For once, Stark sounds overcome.

Loki looks away, unable to watch more.  The pride she feels: It should not be there.  It belongs to the “wife in the colonies.” That Virginia of his, what is she like?  What makes her more worthy than Loki, to share Stark’s caresses?

_What else, but that she is not bound to another?_

Thor’s voice:  “Are you all right, Wife?”  He touches her hand.

Loki blinks back the tears that are suddenly filling her eyes.  “I am fine, Husband, just overcome, from seeing our friend so honored.”  She puts her own hand over Thor’s, and looks at him, reminding herself about how much she already has in her life.  “Pray come to my chambers after this dinner is over, Husband. I would begin again, from where we left off this afternoon.”

“With pleasure, Wife,” Thor says, with ready enthusiasm.  Indeed, Loki already has _so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole again, for this chapter. The bit where Odin knights Tony in front of Malekith is copied as best as I could remember, from the annual scene at the Southern California Renaissance Faire, where Queen Elizabeth I knights Sir Francis Drake.


	5. What is Love,  'tis not Hereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “O Mistress mine where are you roaming?  
> O stay and hear, your true love's coming,  
> That can sing both high and low.  
> Trip no further pretty sweeting.  
> Journeys end in lovers' meeting,  
> Every wise man's son doth know. 
> 
> What is love, 'tis not hereafter,  
> Present mirth, hath present laughter:  
> What's to come, is still unsure.  
> In delay there lies no plenty,  
> Then come kiss me sweet and twenty:  
> Youth's a stuff will not endure.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Frigga, Odin, Thor, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Loki, Volstagg** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Odin is tired, though he’ll never let on to anyone.  Frigga, his wife of many years, sees the signs. They are subtle, but they are there.  They hurt her, deep inside. He’s worried, too. The peace among the Nine Realms was hard-fought.  Many men had to die to earn it. Now things are growing unstable again. Svartalfheim grows arrogant, buoyed by the vast new influx of wealth, from their Midgardian colonies.  Nidavellir, which has always been at peace with Asgard, is being drawn -- Or _forced_. -- under the control of the Svart.

Is war coming again?  And will her husband have to fight it?  Frigga thinks about the scars from long-ago battles, that she sees on her husband’s body at night, when he undresses in their bedchamber.  She thinks about how slowly he moves anymore, when he gets up in the mornings, and how stiff he is, until walking stretches out the kinks. She thinks about the staff he sometimes uses, when he has to walk a long distance, and how that staff remains in an outbuilding, far from the palace, where none can see, when it is not in use.

Frigga frowns.  There will not be a war.  Svartalfheim, newly rich, grows arrogant.  They would buy the power Asgard won by force, and maintains by alliance.  It will not happen. Vanaheim will remain loyal. They are a reasonable people, and proud that a lady from the Vanir royal line now sits on the throne of Asgard.  Nidavellir understands negotiation, they can be dealt with; Nifflheim and Midgard are not yet important, on the world stage; Thor’s marriage to Loki secures Asgard’s alliance with Jotunheim.   _There will be no war._

The marriage:  Thor was not happy, marrying a giantess, though Loki was beautiful, and had a pleasant manner.  He made his distrust too evident, and Loki retaliated with pranks, and petty cruelties. For a time, it seemed they could not be reconciled.  Now, though, it seems there is hope. Frigga thinks about her son coming to her, proudly explaining the compromise he had planned, that was to resolve all conflict between husband and wife.  “She is to have the freedom to live as man _and_ woman,” he told her.  “By day we can be friends, and at night, lovers…”   _Thor_.  Foolish child!  He gives her what the Lady Sif already has, because she’s claimed it for himself, and he thinks he is so generous.  Will it be successful? Who knows?

“...It is her giantish nature…”  This was the other thing her son told Frigga.  “No giant can be constrained too closely, they must have their freedom.”  Here is a truth which should not have to be said. Loki is a giant, it is simply part of her heritage.  As soon point out, “Frigga is Vanir, she must practice magic,” or, “Thor is Aesir, his people understand war.”  If Thor would just stop talking about Loki’s nature… If he could just be comfortable with it, as he is with the natures of the others around him…  Who knows, perhaps it is too late, and Loki has accepted her husband’s characterization, and sees herself as a problem. Perhaps she will grow angry, and dangerous.

There was dancing after dinner, this evening.  First, the formal court dances, the bassedance, and the pavane, and the almain.  Couples in line, in stately procession, Thor and Loki taking the first place, after Frigga showed Odin the hole she’d worn in her new court shoes, and he begged off for both of them.  After a time, the guests from Svartalfheim left, taking with them, a certain heaviness of atmosphere. The music became lighter, and the dances quicker. Gentlemen twirling their ladies, and lifting them high, in the air, music so lilting, so that, heedless of her worn-out shoes, Frigga must pull her husband out for a few more rounds, until finally they were both exhausted, and left the young people to their gambols.

And now Odin has gone up to bed, and Frigga will too, soon, though the festivities are not yet over.  What a relief it will be to take off her tight court dress, what a pleasure to remove those shoes, which are worse than being barefoot.  She touches the piled-up coils of her hair. Her husband will take it down for her when she gets upstairs, brushing it out with slow, gentle strokes, as he has done so many evenings before.

“Loki!”  Frigga is walking past the door to the small dining room, when she hears her daughter in-law’s name being spoken.  She is not out of earshot yet, when she hears it again: “Loki?”

That was not Thor’s voice that spoke.  Were it anyone else, no surprise there.  Everyone at Hlidskjakf speaks to everyone else, all the time, but not Loki.  She keeps herself to herself, more and more, the longer she is here, until finally it seems she is a silent shadow, coming awake only when Thor addresses her, and then afterward, returning to invisibility.  Who speaks to her now?

The Queen of Asgard is not one to trespass upon the privacy of anyone at the palace, and yet…  Relations between her son and his wife have been so troubled, and in her heart, she wants nothing but the best for both of them.  What is Loki doing, finally away from Thor’s side, and does it have a chance to harm, or hurt their relationship? Frigga steals back to the door, and peeps into the room.

The figure clad in red-and-gold belongs to the merchant who was knighted tonight, Sir Anthony Stark.  His back is to Frigga, as he speaks to Loki. Both her hands are clasped in his. “I had not believed it was you…”  Frigga bites her lip. Is she intruding on a lovers’ tryst?

Staying will only make it worse.  The Queen ascends to her bedchamber with a troubled heart.  Well she knows the pain that Thor’s infidelities caused his wife.  Is Loki now venturing on a course that will cause similar pain to him?  What of their marriage vows? What of the child Loki must still bear, to be heir to the Throne of Asgard?

Frigga tells her husband nothing of what she saw on her way up to bed.  There is nothing there to tell, not yet. The sight of the two people holding hands, and a scrap of conversation, half-heard, could mean so many things.  Best not to trouble Odin, for now.

__________________________

“ _Sir_ Anthony Stark, _Sir_ Anthony Stark, _Sir_ Anthony Stark…”  Peter had barely stopped chattering about the pomp of the state dinner. -- “Cockatrice?  What’s that?” “Spiced meat.” “And basilisk?” “More spiced meat.” “And bilgesnape? That’s not really bilgesnape?” -- Now he’s chattering about the knighthood, which does sound well, admittedly, and doesn’t it mean Virginia is now a Lady?  

_Lady_ Virginia, that sounds well indeed.  Tony must be sure and bring back plenty of fine gifts for the new _Lady_ in his household.  She must have jewels, and fine clothing, and what else?  They are the thought s in Tony’s head, pleasant thoughts indeed, and then he hears Loki’s name mentioned.

No surprise that Loki would be here tonight, surely.  And that Tony should not have seen him? Understandable.  As a friend of Thor’s, he would have been seated at the upper table.  And that… This was when he saw Loki. All further thought went out of his head.  This was Loki? This woman? Memories, unconsidered until now, scraps of information that had had no context before:  Thor’s wife is Jotnar; Jotunheim, the land of the Frost Giants; Thor’s wife is a giant. Giants are magical beings. They can change their form at-will.  Loki, a giant, who wore the form of a man, just the day before, now wears the form of a Princess, wife to the next King of Asgard.

Not for anything, would Tony endanger his friend…  And more than a friend… But he said he was plighted to another, didn’t he?  This was why Loki was so upset when he saw Tony in the ale-tent. This explains what he risks, if he is perceived to be unfaithful.  Tony spends most of the evening, explicitly avoiding Loki’s company. There she goes, tripping the steps of a gavotte, with her husband’s friend Fandral.  Those are her feet, high aloft, during the hautdance. The dancing is winding down now, and he notices, as she leaves the room. He cannot help but follow.

“Loki…”  How to describe the difference and the magnificence of the figure before him?  His young man, so casual and unassuming, has changed into this!

Loki’s response comes irritably:  “Stark?” He has taken her by surprise.

He should say a simple good-evening, and then leave, he should let Loki go back to her husband, and yet, the words tumble out, unbidden.  “Now I understand why you would have none of me before,” Tony says to her. “You are… How could you possibly have explained ...this?”

So many words, so much more than he should have said.  “I’ll not endanger you, Loki, I know your responsibilities, as the wife of All-Father’s son…”  Somehow, he has taken her hands, belying his words. But he cannot help it. “You are beautiful like this, so beautiful,” he tells her.  “But Loki, you were so beautiful the other way too.”

“I am still the other Loki.”  The words come slowly, as if unwillingly spoken.  “I am both Lokis, yours, and…”

“Mine?”  Anyone might walk in, at any time, but…  They shouldn’t be speaking these words, regardless.  Even if no one hears them, these are dangerous words.

“Don’t be a fool, Stark.”  Loki moves to turn away.

What nonsense is it to think that Tony’s life will be changed in any way, by hearing words of love, spoken by someone who is married to another?  And yet, it will be. He turns Loki, his hands, on her bejeweled elbows, his eyes, looking up into hers. “You said you are mine… Some part of you.”

“Oh, Stark, of course I’m yours.”  Loki’s voice is rising, now, shrill, as if with pain.  “How can you be so hesitant, so doubtful?”

They _have_ to end this now.  They must leave this room, before anyone else can come in, and find them together.  “ You know, I’m going to think about your words.” Tony speaks nothing but the truth, but he makes his voice casual, and he lets go of Loki’s hands.  “After I’m gone, I’ll remember them.”

“Are those _all_ the memories you want?  Just a couple kisses? Just a few words?”   _They aren’t.  Who could ever think that they were?_  Loki seizes both Tony’s hands, gripping them tightly, speaking words that are rough, uneven, sounding bitten-off.  “You can’t say good-bye like this, me telling you that part of me is yours… Will always be yours…” Tears sparkle in her green eyes.  As Tony watches, one makes a slow streak down her face.

“Come.”  His arm, around her face.  The tenderness, that came into him, when he saw that tear…  The unspeakable tenderness… “Where is safe?” He looks around.  “Where can we be undisturbed?”

A storage room is a shameful place for a tryst.  Brooms, and buckets, and empty sacks, and the noisome smell of vegetable peelings, and slop-water.  The soft buzz of flies, but, aside from that, pure silence. “Loki, stop crying.” Tony pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping her face as gently as he would a child’s.  “No tears, we knew we would have to say good-bye.”

“We should never have seen each other, if it had to be just this.”  She draws a shuddering sob.

Loki should not be crying.  She should not be unhappy because of a man who always knew he was not going to be able to stay.  She should be out, dancing gavottes and pavanes with her husband. She should be laughing with him.  Thor is a good fellow, withall. “Please.” Tony brushes away one more tear that has started. “Please, Loki…”

“Once, Stark.”  Loki’s voice is still rough from crying, but it has a new, fierce energy.  She turns, gripping his shoulders, looking at him, an angry light in her eyes.  “We will be once together, I will have that at least.”

It will be his undoing.  Tony looks at the long corridor of years still ahead of him, he thinks about when he is with Virginia, when he is playing with the children they are still to have, when he is at-sea…  His heart will break, it will surely be torn out of him, and shredded, bit-by-bit, as the years pass. And Loki will be here, unapproachable, wearing the Crown of Asgard. But, when he has this opportunity…  How can he turn away?

__________________________

It would not matter to his passions, were Loki man or woman, but the male form is wiser.  Men cannot conceive children. “Shameful, if I brought a bastard to my husband, and besides…”  How quickly Loki sheds the cumbersome court dress she wears. Bodice, and farthingale, and articles Tony has no name for, fall to the ground as in a shower, until she stands before him, clad only in a shift.

..Until he stands before him.  “Loki!” Tony realizes he has never seen him before, in so little clothing.  The outline of his body is distinct, through the fine linen he wears, but Tony would see it completely unclothed.  “May I?” He touches the hem.

“Why do you take so long?”  Pushing Tony’s hands away, Loki slips the shift from his body.

Tony gasps.  Loki is perfect.  He thinks about a little statue he once saw:  Bronze, cast in the figure of the boy David, standing, with one knee bent, a sword, loosely clasped, in one hand.  That body was so slim, so graceful. Loki’s is better. And, it is Loki’s. It would be beautiful no matter what it looked like.

“Stark, kiss me.  Stark, touch me.” Loki pulls Tony’s face close, kissing him with greedy mouth.

“Tony pulls away.  “I’m still fully dressed.”

“Yes, but I’m not.”

“I would do this properly.”  He undoes the fastenings of his own court attire.  His fingers are unsteady, and it is difficult to make progress, but if he can have only this one time with Loki, how can he settle for the quick, rough penetration one takes with wharf-side prostitutes?  Slowly, the clothes fall to cover Loki’s: Doublet, breeches, garters and hose, and court shoes. Finally, he stands before Loki, naked.

For a moment, all there is is silence, and neither of them approaches the other.  “I’m not much to look at, am I?” Tony speaks only to break the silence. “I’m short, and I have all these scars…”

“Stark, will you stop talking?”  Loki pulls him down on top of the piled-up sacks.  Rough burlap, against their bare skins, a few moist places, no good reason why they should be damp.  “You always do this,” Loki says, between kisses, “you always talk so much.”

Tony’s hands run over the smooth ivory of Loki’s body.  Curve of his muscles, with the long lines of his bones, beneath.  Faint, smooth feel of sweat, as they gradually warm each other. Everyplace must be touched, and, with touching, comes the longing to kiss.  Kissing muscled shoulders, kissing a smooth chest. Kissing Loki’s pink nipples, first licking, then kissing, then licking again, until they stand up, pert and eager.  Tongue tracing lower, the tiny taste of salt, and what feels like the darker, deeper taste of Loki himself, beneath it. The taste of a giant. _His_ giant, or his in part.  “My Loki,” he finds himself muttering.

“Yes, Tony, yours.”  For his part, Loki’s hands are everywhere, tracing Tony’s scars, and the rough places on his body.  As Tony moves lower, kissing first Loki’s chest, then his stomach, and the line of hair that leads to his manhood, Loki buries both hands in his hair, and keeps them there.  He brings his legs up, knees sharply bent, making all of himself available.

His body is a treasure.  His manhood, fully erect, must be tasted…  It throbs in Tony’s mouth. It must be satisfied, and he satisfies it.  They say real men don’t satisfy other men this way, but why not? What, save convention alone, stops them?  Loki deserves to be satisfied this way, and whatever that may say about Tony, it matters not. He takes him deep, sucking with irresistible pressure, knowing what outcome he wants.  Loki comes, in sharp, hard bursts, and he swallows it, then moves to prepare his back opening, for his own satisfaction.

Finally, after it is all done, they lie together on the dirty sacks, exhausted, and yet, withall, so happy.  “I hate your wife.” Loki’s head is snuggled under Tony’s chin, her voice is lazy.

His own hand can’t resist playing with Loki’s long dark hair.  “You don’t,” he murmurs, “you don’t even know her.”

“I know you are hers, and I hate her. -- I hate Thor too.”

Tony hates himself.  He knew this would end in heartbreak, and he allowed it to happen.  “Do you want everything, my foolish love? The Crown, and the alliance between the realms, and me also?”

“I want you.”  Lazy kisses, and greedy words alternate.  “You’re mine, I would keep you as a treasure.  I will lock you away in my jewelry-box, and you shall not escape.”

“Someday, you will be crowned Queen of Asgard.”  Tony, too, gives two kisses, for every word he speaks.  “I will return, and I will watch. You will not even know that I am there.”

Loki hears the footstep outside the door.  Tony knows nothing of it, until he sees her start, and both turn, to see who has caught them in their guilt.

“I wanted a snack.”  Volstagg, of course. Volstagg has caught them.


	6. Friendship is Feigning, Loving Mere Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Blow, blow, thou winter wind,  
> Thou art not so unkind  
> As man's ingratitude;  
> Thy tooth is not so keen  
> Because thou art not seen,  
> Although thy breath be rude.  
> Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:  
> Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:  
> Then, heigh-ho! the holly!  
> This life is most jolly. 
> 
> Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,  
> Thou dost not bite so nigh  
> As benefits forgot:  
> Though thou the waters warp,  
> Thy sting is not so sharp  
> As friend remember'd not.  
> Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:  
> Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:  
> Then, heigh-ho! the holly!  
> This life is most jolly.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, As You Like It

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Tony, Volstagg, Odin, Frigga, Thor** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It is said a true lover should be willing to pay anything for his love.  Tony is no true lover. Though his heart aches with pain for Loki, as he is dragged ahead of him, up the stairs, clad only in his linen shift, Tony’s mind is occupied with his wife, and his company.

Lesè-majesté is the crime of dishonoring the Crown.  This is the crime Tony committed, when he lay with Thor’s wife.  The crime is punishable by death, and worse than death, for, if convicted one must forfeit all of one’s estate to the King.  Virginia would have nothing, Jim, Peter, and so many other brave men, would be left without their means of livelihood. Has Tony brought this harm, upon so many whom he loves, through one careless act?

Ahead of him, Volstagg’s steps are so quick that Loki’s feet seem barely to touch the stairboards.  He is being half pulled, half dragged along. “You will pay, for once you will pay,” the stout warrior grates his anger.  “Treacherous, malicious… giant.”

“Do your worst.”  Loki’s words of defiance come breathless, and Tony is reminded that he too, must pay for Tony’s choice to lay with him.  “Kill me, if you would. Tell me, Volstagg, are you even sure you can kill a giant?”

Soon they are in Odin’s presence.  Thor, fortunately, has not been summoned.  The King’s red robe trimmed with fur, and his shirt visible at the throat, indicate that he has come from his bedchamber  The Queen, arriving short after, has her hair down, a robe of golden-yellow covering her own night-clothes.

“You would transgress upon my hospitality so, Sir Anthony?”  Odin’s voice sounds more sad and tired, than angry. “What penalty should I give, do you think?”

Tony kneels before his Sovereign, his head bowed.  He takes his time with his answer, not to appear to forward, but it is clear in his mind what he must say.  “I know what punishment I should receive for my crime against you, my Lord. I ask instead to be allowed to undergo the trial of peine forte et dure, that my wife should not also have to suffer for what I have done.”

Peine forte et dure:  Torture. A man is put in solitary imprisonment, with no food, no water, until preparations have been made for the rest of the trial.  With a board placed upon his body, he must remain silent, as more and more stones are set thereon. If he opens his mouth and makes any plea for the crime of which he is accused, the trial is ended.  Can Tony endure this torture? He must, for if he but stays silent unto death, his estate will be protected. Virginia will have control of Stark Mercantile Company. She is as intelligent as any man, and will do well, and does Jim not now have commission to lead his own convoy of ships, and keep the business profitable?

Thoughts go through the mind so quickly, during times of great emotion.  There seems no breath, between Tony’s words and Odin’s, and yet he has had time to lay his entire plan out in his mind.  Then, All-Father speaks: “You would choose torture for yourself?” Again, there is no anger in All-Father’s voice, but rather, a note of something like regret.  He turns to Loki. “And you, my daughter, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Am I your daughter?”  Loki’s form flickers, for a moment woman, then man, and then woman again.  “How many roles am I to play for Asgard, All-Father? First I was woman, to seal an alliance, then man, that at your son’s behest.  Now am I to be woman again, that you may scold me? Give me my punishment, but stop telling me who I must be.“

Frigga is seated next to Odin, on two chairs that have been pulled hastily into place.  Tony sees her lips move. Her voice is soft, but audible. “Loki,” she murmurs.

For her part, Loki throws her a look, tossing her head.  “Fortunate, isn’t it, All-Father, that Laufey is willing to accept an alliance based on my sham of a marriage to your son?”

“It is no sham!”

Loki does no acknowledge the interruption.  “I would not be so gracious in his place,” she says, “but would make Asgard work for a change.  Let Thor give something up for once, why should it always be…” Her voice trembles; suddenly, she stops.

Contrary impulses can share company in a man’s mind.  Tony feels at once a great protectiveness, for his wife and the men who work for him, and a still greater anger toward Thor, because he has made Loki cry.  It makes no sense. Loki is another’s wife, and he has no claim on her. Further, he is the one who has brought her to this place. Were it not for him, she’d not be standing, half-clad and tearful, before All-Father.  By rights, he should be angry at himself, but no. Tony is angry at Thor.

“This is the one time that Tony and I were together.”  Loki’s voice is steady again. “And I placed your throne at no risk, for I went to him in a man’s form, not in a woman’s.  If you are upset? Dissolve the marriage. Do you think I care in the slightest?”

Queen Frigga speaks before her husband.  “Nobody wants to dissolve anything, Loki.”

Odin, for his part, has turned to her.  “Why must I be surrounded by hot-headed children?  They would throw away everything I have worked for.”  Then when he turns back, it is as if he cannot face the problem of his son and daughter in-law.  He turns instead to Tony. “You are right, my son, you do indeed deserve death, but your service to Asgard is necessary.  I have none other to perform it.”

“Jim Rhodes.”  Honesty compels Tony to say the name of his second-in-command, who is at least his equal as a ship’s captain.

“He has not your experience.”  Odin’s voice is very, very tired.  “And he doesn’t own the company. I would not have loyalties divided between him and your wife, after your death.”  He lifts his hand, touching Tony on the shoulder. “You may rise, Sir Anthony. Let your shame be your punishment, and may it spur you to greater acts of heroism, in service of my Midgardian colonists.”

It is an act of mercy undeserved, incomprehensible, almost.  For a moment, Tony cannot speak, cannot even think. Then, when his mind clears, the thought of Loki is there.  He glances at her for a moment, before turning to his Sovereign. “And what of…”

“Enough!”  Odin gestures to the door.  “Quit my presence, Stark, before I repent of of the mercy I have shown you.”

The harsh words are deserved, far more than the gentler ones, spoken earlier.  Tony feels the full weight of his shame, as he leaves the room. For a few moments’ caresses, he has placed at-risk his wife, his company, and his country’s future.  Now he can only atone for his sins.

__________________________

No one summons Thor at first.  This is well, for that turbulent princeling would surely cause only more problems.  When he is called into the room, he surpasses Loki’s expectations. “My _wife_?  My _wife_?”  He repeats the words, as though mere repetition will surely change the entire world in his favor.

Volstagg, who was silent before, now turns into the village scold.  “I _found_ her,” he brags, the smug bag of wind.  “I found her, in flagrante delicto.”

“You found _him_.”  Is it any wonder that Odin grows tired?  These family quarrels are foolish and repetitive.  One must continue, for the stakes are high, but oh, how much happier, were it not necessary!  “What is it Thor always told me? That his infidelities did not matter, as he could not bear children?”  

Loki must defend herself, or himself, or both…  Loki must defend Loki, for if she does not, who will?  Why is everyone else allowed to be who they are, but not she?  Nonetheless, she understands, when Frigga hustles her husband and her from the room (Volstagg following, of course).  If she is tired, just from this one conflict, think of Odin, who has also the weight of the entire realm, upon his shoulders.

In Loki’s bedchamber, the quarrel becomes hotter.  Loki would not have her husband there, she would keep him out, secure peace for herself, at least long enough for her to wrap her mind around all that has taken place.  Every moment that she does not defend herself, though, is one more moment for Thor to form judgments without her. Who will have his ear, then? Who else but Volstagg? And then his judgment will become Thor’s, unshakably, and after that no change will be possible.  Better to at least speak for oneself.

The pretty chamber was decorated by Frigga, in the delicate, Vanir manner.  It has never felt fully like home to Loki. Her heritage, by birth first, and then by her marriage into the warlike Aesir, is rougher.  But it is a lovely place. It is what her home would be like, if she could choose it. This bedchamber has seen quarrels before, many of them, since Loki’s marriage to Thor.  They always seem like a desecration, and this one no less so than the others.

Thor follows his wife into the room.  “You made a pretty scene downstairs, didn’t you?”

“It was ill-planned.”  Loki conceals the turbulent emotions that riot in her breast, showing only a cool, ironic mien.  Her steps measured, she crosses the room, takes a seat at her dressing table. She does not allow herself to think about the kisses she traded with Thor, right here, just hours before, but instead, speaks to give insult.  “Had I taken time to think, I’d have invited you and Sif to join us. Think of the fun.”

“ _Fun_?”  Thor’s face is red.  His big hands clasp and unclasp, reflexively.  He would fight something if he could. Loki feels no fear, though; her husband has never raised a hand to her.

Instead, he takes his rage out on her belongings.  Delicate ivory combs fly across the room, followed by the mirror, silver framed in gold, that was Frigga’s gift to Loki on her arrival in Asgard.  Loki’s gloves, her shoes, the pots of paint and perfume that litter the table, follow next. Then Thor grabs her jewelry box, and throws it at the opposite wall.

Beads and baubles fly everywhere.  There go the strings of pearls, that belonged to King Bor’s wife, Thor’s grandmother.  There go sapphires, brought from Vanaheim, and the topazes that Frigga once told Loki she preferred above all other jewels, because of their color.  There finally, with a little tinkle, falls the brooch Tony gave Loki yesterday, at the fair. Thor notices it, of course. It is the only piece in the box that is not part of Asgard’s treasures.

“What is that?”  He stomps toward it.  His feet are big and loud.

“What do you think?  It’s a gift.” Loki’s impulse is to beg her husband’s mercy.  Tony is to leave soon, never, perhaps, to return to Asgard. Can she not at least have this one small token to remember him?  But Loki has never begged. Certainly, she has never begged her husband. “One of my paramours gave it to me,” she says instead, her  tone cutting. “Surely you have given gifts enough to your mistresses, to understand that?”

“Your _paramours_?  Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve had just one.”  Thor takes the little trinket off the floor.  He holds it in his hand. His hand is huge, the bauble’s tinny sparkle barely visible, above his big fingers.  “Stark gave this to you, did he?” he says. “Father should have had him executed.”

“All-Father is smarter than you.  Always.” For the life of her, Loki cannot draw her eyes from the brooch in her husband’s hand.  Her words are all the more cutting, to compensate. “You would have him kill the ablest defender of our Midgardian colonies?”

There go Thor’s fingers, closing, cutting off view of the brooch.  “Not your colonies,” he says. “You’re Jotun, not Asgardian.”

“I am Asgardian by marriage.”  In spite of herself, Loki cannot hold back one plea.  “Give me back the brooch, Thor. Tony is leaving, can I not have this one token?”

“Who knows, perhaps you have a child growing in you.  Thor’s words are cutting, his voice, for once, as sarcastic as Loki’s own.  His hand remains closed, hiding the brooch from view. “Would that not be token enough?  “This is mine. I shall do with it as I please.”

Crossing the room, he opens the shutters, which have been closed against the night’s miasmas.  Loki watches as Thor raises one muscled arm, throwing Tony’s little gift far out into the darkness.  In spite of herself, she cannot repress one single cry, as she sees it go. After that, the anger floods her anew.

“You worthless, puling excuse for a Prince.”  This is what anger feels like, and it is justified.  All the turbulence of her giantish race is there for her, now, when she needs it.  Loki hears her own voice: It is gruff, like a giant’s voice, which is as it should be.  “You take your own pleasure wherever, and whenever you would. You keep me penned up, no freedom, no chance even to learn what I desire for myself.  My one night with Stark will have no effect on you, you clot-headed idiot. Did I not say I lay with him as a man? Your precious line will not be sullied by common blood.  Though that would only improve it, methinks,” she adds, in nasty afterthought.

One thought in Loki’s mind, now that she has spoken her piece:  She would go out into the night right away, to find Stark’s gift, lest it be trodden into the dirt, upon the morn.  As she turns to go, Thor grabs her by the wrist. “Are you going to lay with him again?”

“Who knows?  Perhaps I am.”  Loki knows full-well how nasty she sounds, but it is deserved, fully.  Why should she always have to be submissive and silent? “It would be nice to have one night more, with someone who satisfies me.”

“You are no wife!”  Thor’s voice, following her through the door and down the hall.  “You are no woman at all, but a monster. -- A giant!” His final words are half-heard only; she is on the first landing of the stairs when she hears them.  Afterward, Loki is not sure whether she heard him aright. This is what it sounded like, though: “I would not sully the line of Asgard with your giantish taint.”

Whether the words were heard aright, the spirit behind them is true, is it not?  Thor will never grant Loki full acceptance. To him, she will always be a giant, almost a monster.  And is this to be her fate, then? Will she be shackled for the rest of her life, to one who views her so?


	7. I Am Ashamed That Women are so Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,  
> Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,  
> And for thy maintenance; commits his body  
> To painful labor, both by sea and land;  
> To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,  
> Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;  
> And craves no other tribute at thy hands  
> But love, fair looks, and true obedience-  
> Too little payment for so great a debt.  
> Such duty as the subject owes the prince,  
> Even such a woman oweth to her husband;  
> And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,  
> And no obedient to his honest will,  
> What is she but a foul contending rebel,  
> And graceless traitor to her loving lord?  
> I ashamed that women are so simple  
> To offer war where they should kneel for peace,  
> Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,  
> When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.  
> Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,  
> Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,  
> But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,  
> Should well agree with our external parts?”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

For the next few weeks as he prepares to return to Midgard, Tony walks around feeling like he must speak or he will burst.  He does not speak though, not to anyone. What is there that he could say, and, to whom, and how would he say it? He writes long letters to his wife instead:  “My darling Virginia, how I miss you… My wife, my love, you complete me.” They relieve some of the pressure inside him, but they are dishonest. Those are not the emotions that burn so, within him.  Tony burns the letters, instead of saving them for his wife.

Virginia has always seemed like a rock, to him.  She is stable and organized, where he can be swayed by whims, and passing ideas.  How he longs for her stabilizing influence now! He walks through his days, and at times he’ll find himself picturing her:  It is 7:00 AM, what is his wife doing now? She is speaking to Jarvis, probably. “For dinner today? Ham, I think, and salad.  Is Cook baking today? Some wheaten bread would go well as an accompaniment.” It is 11:00 AM, perhaps she is inspecting the preparations their servant Happy has made for winter.  “How much firewood? That’s not enough, we’ll need at least twice that.” It is 3:00 in the afternoon, she is taking tea with some of the neighboring town-dwellers, it is 6:00, she is eating another solitary dinner, awaiting his return...

 _Virginia_ :  He does not deserve her.  And yet he thinks of her.

Jim would understand if Tony spoke to him.  But he would make a jest of it, wouldn’t he?  “You cuckolded All-Father’s son? Oh Tony, Tony, if anyone would!”   _Cuckold_ :  Is that what he did?  It is an ugly word. And Peter would be so surprised, so confused.  “Lesè-majesté, Tony? But what about the company?” Harder, even than hearing Jim joke about what is so painfully serious, would it be to look into his younger companion’s eyes, and see the shock that would be there.

Tony finds that if he works hard enough, he can almost sleep soundly at night.  Certainly there is plenty to be done to prepare for their return to Midgard. Goods must be purchased.  Fine fabrics, and items of great beauty begin to fill the hold of the Mark IV. The holds of the other two ships are stocked with the small luxuries of the lesser sorts:  Tea, and fortified wines, sugar, and brandy. There must be food and water, sufficient for the journey: A pig for each ship, turnips and mangels, hardtack and salt meat to be eaten as a last resort after they have finished their fresh food.

“Tony?”  They are in a draper’s shop.  Bolts of damask, and brocade, and a thousand other fabrics Tony has no name for, line the walls.  On the counter in front of them, various pieces of lace from Vanaheim. Peter has just chosen a small collar, a gift for a girl he loves, back in Midgard, who Jim and Tony know only as “Lizzie.”  Tony is now supposed to be choosing other pieces, to sell when they return home. He must have been distracted. It is only when Peter says his name, that he realizes he has been staring at the dainty scraps, as though he did not see them.

“Tony?” Peter says again.  “Are you alright?”

“My mind was elsewhere, I’m afraid.”  Tony gestures at the lace. “We’ll take all of it.”  The price is tremendous, but what of it? It will sell; no one does work like this in the colonies.  He completes their order quickly, purchasing fine fabrics with equal lavishness. Money? What is money?  These things will sell. And if they do not, enough else of their cargo will, and their profit will be ensured.  There still remains to choose gifts for his wife. It will have to be done later; Tony would not choose anything for Virginia, while his mind is so distracted.

Jim has been at the woolen shop, a few doors down.  He looks at Tony, when they meet in the tap-room at the inn, after their purchasing is complete.  Good friend that he is, he frowns his concern, even though it is Tony’s own foolishness, which has led to his unhappiness.  He says nothing, though, and the fact of what Tony did lies like a weight between them.

Tony has seen Loki a few times, since the night state dinner.  He still wears the form of a young man, much of the time. Tony will see him going about with his husband and his friends.  Horses race through the streets, their hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones: There is Thor at the head, his three warrior friends and Sif, following, and Loki, never very close to them, but always there.  Tony will venture sometimes into an alehouse, and they will be there, drinking deep, and jesting. Is Loki quieter than he was before? Is he more serious? Hard to say, he was always very quiet, and very serious.

Tony sees the Princess too sometimes, after his disgrace.  Odin still invites him to some state events, not for his own sake, but because, as a privateer, he is a useful reminder to the men of Svartalfheim that Asgard defends its colonies.  Tony will see Loki, as Princess. She is cool and remote, and so, so beautiful.

Only once do they speak, at a celebration held to honor the Svart delegation, on the eve of their departure.  Again, there is feasting, Tony and his friends now earning a spot at the top table, where the Svart will be sure to see them.  Again the food, and Peter’s curious comments, again the dancing afterward.

Tony would not for words have shamed Loki, by asking her to dance with him, but the dance is a reel, inevitably it comes time for her to be his partner.  Hurried words, spoken in an undertone, over the lilt of the music: “It was my fault, Loki… What happened: I never meant to hurt you.”

“Do not trouble yourself, Stark.”

“I still have your token.”

Loki gives him one secret smile.  “And I have yours.”

Is it forgiveness?  Is it understanding, perhaps, that he could not have done other than he did?  Who knows what it was? Women are hard enough to understand, and Loki, this dual-natured being whom Tony loves, is at least doubly difficult.  The words were warm, though, at any rate, and Loki’s smile was tender. It is enough to send Tony away from the night’s festivities, with his heart at least a little bit lighter.

And afterward, the preparations for his own departure continue apace.  Gifts for Jim’s wife, and for Peter’s “Lizzie,” gifts for Virginia. Gift, upon gift, upon gift, for Virginia.  Gifts to beg for the forgiveness he cannot seek in words, gifts to tell her how much he has missed her calm, stable company.  Gifts to say what Tony wants to say: “Virginia, I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you so much, and I need you.”

Her blue eyes will light up, when she sees what he has brought her.  Those soft lips of hers will turn up in spite of themselves. “Oh Tony,” she’ll say, “you shouldn’t have spent so much!”

“You deserve it, and more,” he’ll say, and she’ll give him that look of hers, half fond and half irritated.

__________________________

Tony’s brooch was in a mud puddle, when Loki found it.  She took it home and cleaned it as best she could. At once, the brass started to tarnish, and the glass gem lost what little sparkle it ever had.  It still has its special place in her jewelry box, though, nestled, beneath the weight of her royal jewels. The green the brass now wears is almost the color of the green velvet it lies against.  It is far greener then the little glass jewel is anymore, certainly. No matter; Tony has left a better token as well.

Does anyone really know if a Jotun can conceive while in male form?  Has anyone ever cared enough to make sure? If Laufey had been a proper father, he’d have told Loki, instead of shoving him into Thor’s arms, with orders that amounted only to, “Be a Princess.”

Be a Princess all the time, be the wife _I_ need to secure this alliance.  Be a wife to All-Father’s heir, and give him children.  You are my son, Loki, it is your duty to obey me.

Loki is giving Thor a woods-colt, instead of a child of his own.  This she is sure of, deep in her heart, with an assurance that has nothing whatsoever to do with the facts of the case.  Certainly the babe might be her husband’s. She lay with him the day of the state dinner, as well as with Tony. It is Tony’s, though, because it should be, it must be.  When the time comes for her confinement, she will look down and see brown eyes like his, looking up at her, worn by the babe in her arms. Will Thor say to her, “The child is not mine, look, the eyes are wrong, and the coloring”?  Pfft, all babes look alike. Loki has dark hair herself, anyhow, and what are a pair of brown eyes?

The weeks go by.  Loki’s jerkin buttons cannot be closed any longer, when she assumes male form again, probably for the last time before the child is born.  She would watch Tony’s ships leave for Midgard.

Thor’s worried voice:  “Are you sure you should go out, Wife?  And like that?”

Loki is dressed like a commoner, loose jerkin of green wool, over breeches in a darker shade.  Heavy shoes for walking in, and a hat pulled low, to disguise a face that might be recognized. “You have taught me to enjoy a man’s freedoms again, Husband.”  His voice is gentle, for he has no anger toward Thor, not anymore. “You cannot expect me to accept confinement now, when the child has not yet even quickened.”

Three ships, graceful, in the harbor.  Tony’s galleon, the Mark IV, and the two smaller ships.  Loki watches from the docks, as they weigh anchor. He hears the faint shouts, of the ships’ crews at work.  Around him, is plenty of other company. It is not every day that a privateer singled out for knighthood by All-Father himself, leaves Asgard.

“They’re brave, them privateers.”  A commoner addresses Loki as an equal.

“Very brave.”  Why do tears film his eyes, as he watches Tony’s departure?

“D’you think they’ll make it?  The seas are rough this time of year, I hears.”

“They’ll make it.”   _They will,_ Loki silently tells the babe in his/ _her_ belly.   _Your father will live to see you one day, my child._

__________________________

It is a relief for Frigga to see her daughter in-law’s ways beginning to quiet, as her pregnancy increases.  Where before, she was all shouting and turbulence, now she seems like any woman. Her pastimes are those of the other ladies at court, embroidery, and the writing of poetry, and practice with the virginal, that she has left alone, since Thor demanded she be his male companion.  She comes to Frigga, as any young mother would, to an older woman: “What spells will ease my labor, Mother? What can I do, to ensure that the child be healthy?”

When time comes for the lying-in, it is a quick labor, so quick that some of the women comment upon it.  “She just dropped it! Like a cat, she was. Is that the way of the Jotnar?”

“Monsterish, a giant’s delivery…”  Frigga does her best to hide these whispers from Loki, but surely she must hear some of them.  Why do people have to say such things? Why must someone’s innate qualities always be perceived as faults?

The babe is a beautiful little girl, perfect, in every respect.  Thor proves to be a fond father, so fond that some of the women comment upon that as well.  Frigga is not surprised, though having seen Odin behave the same way, after his son was born.

Once, twice, a hundred times, it seems, within an hour, Thor must take the baby from its place at Loki’s breast.  And he must unwrap it from its swaddling, examine it again, admiring every detail. “Look at the little toes… Oh, and the tiny fingernails!  Loki, see?”

“Of course I see.”  Loki’s tired voice.

“Such perfect little fingernails.  And Loki, so much brown hair!”

“Like my hair.”  Loki’s arms are reaching for her babe, but Thor takes the time to swaddle it again, his hands clumsier than a woman’s but capable enough withall, before returning it again.  

“And the blue eyes,” he says.  “They are my eyes.”

“Thor, all babies have blue eyes.”

There is only one problem with the babe, and that, so Loki says, will be resolved in due time.  As a girl, it cannot, of course, inherit the throne of Asgard. “The babe is half-Jotun,” Loki says.  “It will share my dual nature; Asgard will have its heir.”

“But when, Loki, when?” demands Thor, ever impatient.

“I know not, for I do not remember when I first became aware of my powers.  A year,” Loki says, “perhaps a little more. Be patient for once in your life, Husband.  Not everything comes at once.”

“I will try.”  Thor’s voice is fond.  “For your sake, and for our child’s.”

The babe is beautiful at Loki’s breast, its dark head pressed close, mouth greedily sucking nourishment.  Morgan, it is to be called. “Like morning,” Loki says. “A golden, Asgardian morning, since it does not have my husband’s golden hair.”

“It is beautiful as it is, Loki,” Thor tells her.  And Frigga tells her the same thing, and Odin, and all of the court, for Morgan is indeed a child much beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: When Loki speaks of the baby's sharing her dual nature, s/he means that s/he expects Morgan to take after her, because of her giant's blood, and to be able to switch genders. S/he wants her daughter to be able to reign as King of Asgard. A friend of mine whose first language isn't English said that part was unclear to her. Probably I could have phrased it better, but sometimes I can't be as clear as I want to be.


	8. Young Men Will Do't, if They Come to't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “By Gis and by Saint Charity,  
> Alack, and fie for shame!  
> Young men will do't, if they come to't;  
> By cock, they are to blame.  
> Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me,  
> You promised me to wed.’”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Hamlet

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Peter Parker, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Frigga, Thor, Jane Foster** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Tony does not get to Asgard the following year.  Pirates ambush him off the coast of New Svartalfheim.  He manages to repel the attack, but the Mark IV is out of commission for several months, being repaired.  The following year, inclement weather, lasting through most of the summer, keeps him from making the journey.  Tony is forced to purchase from Nidavellir traders, to satisfy New Asgard’s hunger for manufactured goods. The third year, he sees an Asgardian newspaper:  Thor and Loki have had a child. Unwilling to be a source of division between husband and wife, Tony sends Jim and Peter to make the journey in his stead.

In all, it is five years, before Tony sees Asgard again.  Never, since reaching adulthood, has he spent so long a sustained period in Midgard, which has always felt like a vacation home to him.  It is not good for a man to be so long away from his labors. Tony’s small tasks at the warehouses take up only a few hours each day. He must inspect the merchandise.  Occasionally he must inventory. Four times yearly, there are auctions. Those are banner events, taking up a full day of his time, or maybe two. Ladies come from as far away as Odintown, to make their purchases.  Men come sometimes too, when a ship, new-arrived, makes indentured servants available for contract. Always, there are children everywhere. They squeal at poppets and chapbooks, though these are too expensive for most families.  Always, they beg their mothers for fairings, for gingerbread or candy, something to remind them of this day of pleasure.

Faint echoes, at the back of Tony’s mind:  It was Loki’s first time at a fair, that day.  It had to be, from the way he acted, regardless of what he said about all the many fairs he’d seen as a child in cold Jotunheim.  Again, Tony hears his laughter. He sees him touch cheap lutes, and beribboned tambourines, with careful fingers. He tastes the lemon-and-sugar flavor of Loki’s mouth, after he ate the Asgardian rock.

Children always get their candy for free, when these moods are upon him.  Sometimes they get fairings as well. “Mr. Stark, you shouldn’t, it’s too much,” the mothers will remonstrate.  Pfft, they are trinkets, worth a penny at most. What matters this tiny bit of profit, compared with their smiles, which remind him of Loki’s?  Here are some, at least, to whom he can give happiness, without harm to anyone.

Virginia, Tony learns, upon sustained observation, is more capable, even than he knew before.  Their house: See how well she keeps it! The floorboards are scrubbed daily, the walls whitewashed, when even a scrap of dirt can be seen.  Rag rugs, dyed brave crimson and gold, are replaced with carpets, when autumn brings colder weather. Summer flowers are replaced with a mix rose petals and spices, them to be replaced themselves, when spring comes again.

The turn of the seasons feels so different, here on land.  What he knows, is the weather at sea, the fresh breezes of springtime, the threat of hurricanes, in late summer, the fogs and the risk of icebergs, if one is not home before winter.  Here, everything is planned around farming. Spring comes, and the entire world is suddenly busy. Chicks hatch, calves and piglets are born, fields and gardens must be planted. So much work, and yet it is as nothing, to the long days of cultivation that are necessary during the summer.  Then follows the labor of autumn: Breeding cattle, harvesting crops, slaughtering pigs, then salting and curing the meat. How do landsmen keep to this schedule? How does Virginia manage all of it, so capably, and so well?

Tony makes a stab at helping her, but it is no use; he is not fit for this sort of labor.  “Leave it be, Tony!” She’ll slap his fingers away, though he had no intention of touching the tobacco seedlings she has sprouting, early in the spring.  And, “Don’t bother,” when he would tell Cook himself, whether to prepare white or rye bread, for tonight’s dinner. The rye, it seems, must be set to proof the night before.  And don’t bother asking for beaten biscuits. “Tony, do you know how long those take?” Virginia asks, laughing, when he suggests it. Impossible! Also, apparently, these are food only for one’s most favored guests.  “As well tell Cook to cut up that ham over there,” she says, pointing, ”if it were only the two of us at dinner.”

Another thing Tony is not allowed to help with, by the way, is curing the hams.  It’s just as well. He sees a little bit of the process; it is as complicated as surgery.  And the sounds! “Tony, a pig cannot feel anything,” Virginia tells him. How can anything sound that much like a stricken human and not have feelings.  One almost cannot eat the ham and bacon, after hearing it.

What a relief, when he finally sets sail again for Asgard!  The Mark IV having been wrecked during a storm the previous year, he now commands the Mark V.  She is a gallant craft, her hold large, to carry merchandise back to Midgard. Yet she is agile as a dancer, in case there should be another attack.  Behind her, follow the two smaller vessels, under Peter’s command. Jim sets sail separately, with his own ships. The shall meet again, when they have all reached Asgard.

Once there, Tony finds that Loki and Thor are not at Hlidskjalf.  They are in the country, at the summer palace, with their daughter. -- Their daughter!  He had not known the child was a girl. He wonders if Thor minds that the child is not a boy.  But what matter? She has inherited her mother’s dual nature surely. She can transform, when Asgard needs her to be a King. -- There is other news as well:  All-Father is no more. “He is in Valhalla now, with his ancestors,” Queen Frigga tells Tony. Unmindful of old grudges, she has invited him to stay at the palace, and Jim and Peter too, while they are in Asgard.

“I mourn your loss with you,” Tony tells her.  Frigga looks older than she did the last time he was here, and careworn.  It is sorrow that’s done this to her, he thinks.

“Do not be sad,” she says, though.  “It was the right time.” Frigga puts her hand on Tony’s arm.  She looks at him, her gaze warm. “How have you fared, my son?” she asks.  “I worried about you after you left before.”

Tony should speak of Virginia.  He should tell about their home in Hlidskjalf City, or how the settlers of New Asgard are faring.  He speaks, though, and none of this comes out. “How is Thor?” he asks instead. “How is…” He clamps his lips shut, before he can say the name “Loki.”

Frigga’s answer is no answer.  “You should not worry overmuch about another man’s wife, my son.”

 _I did not know Loki was anyone’s wife when I met him,_ Tony thinks.  He says nothing, though; he would not add more burden to the Queen’s tender heart.

__________________________

Jane Foster’s country house is twenty miles south of Hlidskjalf, about five miles east of Thor’s own summer residence.  As always, when he rides over to visit her, he is struck by the beauty she has achieved here. The peasants’ common areas are secured by stout hedges.  From above them, Thor catches glimpses of cattle grazing, he sees grain, ripening to golden fruitfulness. Closer to the house, there are orchards: Dusky plums, and golden pears, apples, still green, to be enjoyed later in the summer.  Beyond this, sturdy barns, and the cold frames, that will make fresh salads available, far into the winter months. Then come the gardens, and the house, mellow bricks, with half-timbers above.

Finally, there is Jane’s welcome when he enters.  “Oh Thor, have you come to visit me again?”

“Again and again, Jane, until you must throw me out.”  The small passion that was once between them has mellowed, over the years, into sweet friendship.  Thor sweeps his dear friend into the air, giving her a hearty buss on both cheeks, before setting her back down.

“Thor.”  Jane laughs.  “You will be the death of me one day.”

The drawing room where they take refreshment is a pleasant place.  A bookshelf and scientific implements betoken Jane’s love of learning.  A lute and an embroidery frame indicate that she is skilled in daintier arts as well.  An enameled table, brought by Nidavellir traders from the Far East, as always, holds sweetmeats for them to share.  “Marchpane?” Thor takes a piece. “And gingerbread too! Jane, you spoil me so.”

She pours Rhenish wine for both of them.  Handing him a glass, “How fares your family, Thor?” she asks.

“They are well, and I thank you.”  The conventional response slips lightly from his lips, but Jane is a good friend; Thor will not hide the full truth from her.

“Your daughter?” she prompts him.

Another conventional response:  “Morgan grows more like her mother each day.”

“More like?”  Jane’s face holds nothing but compassion.

Thor shakes his head.  “Not in the way that matters.”  He thinks about his daughter: Four years old now, Morgan is wayward, like Loki, always determined to have her way.  She is curious, and so very, very intelligent. But she has shown no sign of shape-changing ability. A girl she was born, and a girl she remains; perhaps that is all she can ever be.

Again, nothing but concern in Jane’s voice, “You can have more children, you know.”

Thor thinks what coupling with his wife is like, the few times that they still do it:  Such quick encounters, and how cold they feel, making business transactions, from what should be acts of love.

“I suppose,” grudgingly.

Jane frowns.  “I’d better not hear that you’ve been seeking Lady Sif’s bedchamber again.

There are problems with having a friend who knows as much about one as Jane knows about him.  He has shared things with her, over the years, that were perhaps better left unconfessed. The buxom blonde, one of Mother’s ladies in waiting, who took his fancy, two summers ago.  The child she bore him. -- A full, Asgardian boy, and not a half-giant, with promised, fictitious abilities. -- Jane knows the amount of the portion he gave for the child’s upbringing, and the name of the husband he found her.   She approved his choice of a wealthy cloth trader, whose business requires him to live several days’ north of Hlidskjalf. She knows of what Thor has done since then, the names of the increasing numbers of women he has bedded.

Is it right that a man live perpetually without love?  Thor asks little of life, a warm bed, a few loving words, a woman who comes to his arms willingly, rather than acting like it is a chore.  Sif was a friend, now she is more than a friend. It should be his wife who gives him this, but Loki will not.

“And what if I have?”  Instantly, he regrets speaking harsh words to Jane, who has never given him anything but kindness.  “She understands me,” he says, his voice milder. “She is Asgardian, she knows our ways.”

“She is of royal blood, Thor.  You cannot get her with child, then marry her  to a commoner.”

If Sif were to carry his child…  Just for a moment, Thor lets himself picture it:  Her small features, rosy, with the glow of motherhood, her athlete’s figure, swollen and fruitful.  He imagines what their babe would be like. It would be a boy, full Asgardian, and of royal lineage.  He could ascend the throne of Asgard, All-Father’s throne, think of that.

It would be no harm to Loki, whose daughter has no shape-changing powers, and is only a girl.   _A girl and a giant…_  Thor pushes that ugly thought from his head.  Whatever his marriage has become, he must not insult his wife with these thoughts.

“Thor?”  Jane’s voice recalls him to the present.  “Thor, about Sif?”

“If she were going to have a child, she’d have done it by now.”  He keeps his voice casual and easy. “I’ve told you about the first time I went to her.”

“Before Morgan’s first birthday.”  Jane does her best to give him a frown.  “Because you’re a terrible husband.”

“I am a Prince.”  Unspoken truth: We are above the laws that bind common men.

“You are a selfish boy.”  Even when she wants to be angry with him, Jane never can.  Her lips are already curving upward, changing from a frown into a smile.  

Thor feels his heart warm.  Jane should always smile. All women should always smile, and he should make them smile; he never means anything but happiness for any of the ladies who share his company.

“Your mother should have raised you better,” she says, mock scolding.

“Mother did her best, but I was incorrigible.”  Now that happiness is restored, Thor dismisses the subject.  “If Sif does have a child, he’ll do well enough. Royal boys have a position in the world, whichever side of the blankets they were born on.”

“You’re so sure it would be a boy?”  Jane arches one eyebrow.

“Naturally it would be,” Thor says, his voice casual, “from an Asgardian warrior like Sif.”

“Oh, Thor.”

He lingers for awhile, now that peace has been restored.  Dallying over sweetmeats and wine in Jane’s drawing room, he lets the hour grow late, leaving only after the shadows have grown long.  Then he turns his horse into the setting sun, riding into a glare that is red-bright, like Loki’s anger is, when she lets herself show it.  Thor has grown almost to like that anger; it is better than the coldness she normally shows.


	9. Be You Blithe and Bonny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.  
> Men were deceivers ever,  
> One foot in sea, and one on shore,  
> To one thing constant never.  
> Then sigh not so, but let them go,  
> And be you blithe and bonny,  
> Converting all your sounds of woe  
> Into hey nonny, nonny.
> 
> Sing no more ditties, sing no more  
> Of dumps so dull and heavy.  
> The fraud of men was ever so  
> Since summer first was leafy.  
> Then sigh not so, but let them go,  
> And be you blithe and bonny,  
> Converting all your sounds of woe  
> Into hey, nonny, nonny.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited chapter. The editions are in the center of the chapter, starting where it says, "Asgard thinks itself civilized..."

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Thor, Odin, Frigga, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Morgan is close-on five years old now.  She has shown no indication of shape-shifting ability.  What does this mean? Loki has no idea. Memories from her own childhood:  She remembers changing, exploring the world as a wolf, a raven, a snake. She has no memory of when that started.  It feels like she was doing it always, but that’s impossible. Would she have been changing shape in her cradle?

Thor’s insistence:  “She has not inherited your powers, Loki.  She is a girl only, and always will be.” Logic would suggest, then, that she has taken more from the Asgardian side of her heritage?  Ah no, because then there could not be that pejorative repetition: “A giant, a giantess, a Jotun.”

“Either she is one, or she is the other, Thor.”  How many times over the years, has Loki said these same words?  “She can be true Asgardian, and unable to change, or the monstrous Jotun of your imagination.  She cannot be both.”

Ah, but she can, in imagination.  Morgan’s status has nothing to do with who she is, it is the result of Thor’s cruel judgment upon her mother.  “Yes, you are right, Wife,” Thor says, time and again. His face says that he is unconvinced, and he turns away.

Morgan is not a stupid child.  She is beginning to read now, taking Loki’s books and pointing to some of the simpler runes, reading them aloud.  She repeats spells from memory, though as yet she cannot quite accomplish them. And she must always be everywhere, talking about everything.  “Mama, a horse! -- A bird, Mama! -- Look, a tree!”

“When you are older, I will teach you to shift into those forms, and others too,” Loki tells her.  There were lessons, she remembers from her own childhood, that helped her hone her skills. “When you are older, you will be able to be whatever  you choose,” she says, though she is beginning to doubt whether this is so. Surely her own powers were there before she was this old? Morgan has been fitted for her first set of adult clothing.  By autumn, she will shine in a farthingale, and her first corset. Was not Loki herself still in short-clothes when her powers came to her? But Asgardian and Jotun have never shared blood before, and there is the added factor of Loki’s liaison with Tony.

This, in Loki’s mind, is the reason that Morgan has no Jotun powers:  It is her own fault; through her adultery, she has brought this bad luck upon her daughter.  The girl is cursed, as is Loki’s whole womb, for though Thor has lain with her many times, since Morgan’s birth, there have been no more children.  No sons, no daughters, no babes at all… One night, with the husband of the woman Virginia has set Loki’s fate: She is no proper Queen, but only a barren giantess, raising this child, who is neither full Asgardian, nor proper Jotun.

Thor, of course, is always visiting other women.  At Hlidskjalf, he is always with Sif, here in the country, he must ever be galloping off to visit that woman of his, Jane Foster.  If it were not her, it would be someone else; his desires seem impossible to assuage. In past years, Loki might have taken petty revenge, but now she has no stomach for that.  Thor is unsatisfied because she has not given him what she should have; she can hate him for it, but can she really blame him?

And all around her, the summer continues, as summers always do.  Asgardian daylight is everywhere, twelve, fourteen, sixteen or more hours a day, golden, like honey.  Tiny leaves grow bigger, darkening the trees to full green, which is later dotted with ripe fruit. Flowers bloom, scenting the air with sweetness.  Loki will take Morgan for walks, on these fragrant summer afternoons. “Look, Mama, a flower, a rabbit, a frog!”

“Here, child, watch this!  Can you do this?” For a moment, Loki is a bird, stretching her wings, flying to the top of the nearest tree.  Morgan always claps, laughing delightedly, but she has never repeated her mother’s accomplishment.

“Mama is magic, Mama is wonderful,” she’ll cry.

“You too, shall be just like I, one day.”  Loki repeats the lie over and over, as though she could make it true with repetition alone.

And one day finally, the summer is over.  “We must return to Hlidskjalf,” Thor says.

“Certainly, Husband.”  Loki’s tone is the obedient one of a perfect wife, which she is not.  “I will cause our things to be packed. Come, Morgan.”

The retinue of horses is as it always is, ten in all, riding two by two, with Thor at their head.  He looks as fair as he ever did, Loki notes with an impartial eye. His hair is as golden, his waist only slightly thickened over the years.  After the horses come the palanquin that she shares with Morgan. Its curtains are brocade from the Far East, stuffy in the August heat, but surely very magnificent to any onlookers who might see them pass by.  The cushions are soft velvet, again, over-warm. Morgan is fascinated, as she always is by everything. It is one of the traits that she’s inherited from Tony.

Clop-clop, go the horses hooves on the dirt of the highway,  and thud-thud-thud, go the feet of the serving men, carrying the palanquin.  The sounds change and grow sharper; they have reached the cobbled streets surrounding Hlidskjalf.  Then finally the sounds cease; they are at their destination.

The palace is pleasantly cool, after the heat of the road.  Frigga’s welcome is loving, as it always is. “My son! -- My daughter! -- My granddaughter!”  Loki’s chambers are as they always are too; the scent of the herbs and ambers that she burns for her spells lingers, mixed with the smell of leather, from her books.  There is the narrow bed that she has taken to using, since Thor rarely visits, there is the wardrobe with her clothing.

A gown, more formal than she would have worn for dinner in the country.  Morgan is there, of course, trying and touching everything. “Mama, paint my face too!  Mama, may I try your ring? May I try your necklace? -- Mama, what’s this?”

Jolted from her distraction, Loki looks.  It is the little brooch Tony once gave her, corroded now, almost beyond recognition.  “Your father gave that to me once, long ago,” she says without thinking.

“Papa Thor?”

“No, your real father.”  Words that are out, before they are considered, but they do not matter, do they?  The child is young, she will not remember. It will be as though Loki had never said them.

Dinner is a stale and profitless affair, of course.  Though there are no guests tonight, the room is over-full, with all of Thor’s retinue, and all of Loki’s, and all the servants as well.  The food seems tasteless, the air is heavy with late-summer heat, and the stench of the city. Conversation is desultory. “And how was the country, Thor?”  “Oh, fine, fine!” “And how is Morgan, Loki?” Is there nothing else that they can talk about together?

That night Loki cannot sleep.  The servants seem everywhere, talking loudly, and disturbing her.  “Surprised he left… Didn’t think he had that much respect.” One loud voice.  “Respect? Pfft. After the last time!” “Cuckolding the King, under his very roof,” says another.  “She’d have done it again if he’d stayed.” And another, “He didn’t stay. Midgardians have more respect than giants, anyhow.”

Do you want to know why Loki has given up the petty, mischievous habits of earlier years?  Why she has become only a pale shadow, walking through the obligations of her role as Queen?  This is it, right here: It is as though all her earlier misdeeds, every angry word, and cruel trick, and those few beautiful, and yet lawless hours that she spent with Tony as well, have all accumulated.  They weigh like a millstone around her neck, and no one around will ever forget any of them. She is the ugly, horrible giantess now, who can do nothing right, and so why bother to do anything?

And yet…  And yet, there is something else in their words...

__________________________

Asgard thinks itself civilized, but it is crude, almost as crude as Jotunheim, the northerly neighbor that so many of the Aesir believe home only to monsters.  Ever since she came to her husband’s homeland, Frigga has been hearing stories about the Jotnar, the terrible giants, the creatures of chaos, who would destroy the whole world, were they not kept in check.  Looking back now, she wonders that she could have watched Odin make a marriage for their son with one such, and that she should have said nothing.

Over the years, Frigga has watched as this ill-conceived marriage wore all the joy out of Thor’s wife.  Loki was a spirited child when she arrived. She was tempestuous, sly, but they were the faults of youth and, with them, there was so much that was good.  Now she is an unhappy woman. She keeps her unhappiness inside her, never giving it voice, but it is there, visible in her face. She lives for her child, and only her child.  Children grow up, one cannot base a life on them alone, but what else does Loki have?

As for Sir Anthony…  But here again, Frigga’s judgment was at fault.  The merchant is a fair looking man, and warm-hearted.  When Loki is with him, she blossoms. Was it really so terrible that Frigga would have had him stay at Hlidskjalf, while her daughter in-law was here?  The servants would have gossiped, certainly, but servants always gossip. One lives one’s life regardless…

No, say rather that if one is confident of one’s place in the world, one lives one’s life.  Here is the crucial point that she disregarded. Stark is a commoner, newly rich; such men are never confident of their place, and how can Loki be confident, surrounded as she always is, by whispers that she is a monster?

Rather than bring enjoyment into her daughter in-law’s wife, by inviting Sir Anthony to the palace, Frigga managed only to put shame upon both of them.  She made Loki’s life harder even than it was before, made her marriage to Thor even more untenable. This is terrible, for that marriage is necessary. One belief of her husband’s that Frigga has always shared:  Alliance is better than war.

Sir Anthony left the palace a day ago, shortly before Loki returned from the country.  He told no one he was leaving; it was not until dinner last night that the Dowager Queen even knew him gone.  Who knows what she hoped at that point, perhaps that Loki would not know he’d been there at all? So as to save her discomfort?  Foolish hope!

The next afternoon, Loki confronted Frigga in her chamber.  “He was here, wasn’t he?”

“Sir Anthony?”   There are things that cannot be put into words.  How do you tell a child that they do not belong, and you know they don’t belong, and would have given them temporary happiness with another misfit?  How do you tell a wife that you know her husband is adulterous, and will always be so, and, given that, that she should seek comfort from adultery herself as well?

How do you tell a child who is surrounded by insults every day of her life, that she must endure such forever, for the sake of duty?  Truly, there is no way, and every word one says instead rings hollow.

“Yes…”  Does Loki understand any of what her mother in-law is thinking?  It doesn’t show on her face. “That is who I meant.” There is a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

“I did not send him away.”  Frigga was there that night when Loki was taken in adultery.  Surely the child will understand she is now giving tacit approval for similar behavior?

“He left because heard the servants gossiping,” comes Loki’s response.  “Tony is a man of pride.”

_Oh child, child, child.  Both of you have so much pride, the more so, because neither is confident of your place in the world!_  The situation is heartbreaking, Frigga could weep so easily.  Almost, she would send Loki away, but, if Loki goes, the alliance between Jotunheim and Asgard goes with her, and there will follow the lives of many innocents on both sides.

“Child, he did not leave because he was insulted.”  Frigga is sure of this much at least. The newly rich always understand that their place is tenuous, and they cannot demand the same respect as is given to those nobly born.

“Then it was because he heard me insulted.”  Loki should not have said this. It’s true, but she shouldn’t have said it…  Why, because pain is less if one lies about it?

No words.  Frigga cannot say what should be said, and she is tired of saying things that don’t matter.  All that is left is to take Loki in her arms and clasp her tight. The girl is tense in her arms, and restive, but then she relaxes.  

“How did you do it, Mother Frigga?” she says finally, very softly.  “How did you make a place for yourself here?”

“My way was easier than yours, child.”  Very gently, Frigga brushes a lock of dark hair back from Loki’s face.  “Asgardians respect the Vanir for our culture. They believe us effete, but we are not...”  

“You mean nobody calls you monsters.”  The words are simply spoken, no emotion there, only cold reality.  Frigga feels tears flood her eyes; she swallows.

“That is what I meant.”

“I wish one of Thor’s women would give him a son.”  There is some determination in Loki’s voice now, almost some hope.  “I’d leave then, I’d go to Midgard, It is a primitive place, and I am a primitive creature; I could belong there.”  

_Child, you are not primitive, only different.  How cruel the world is to those who are different!_

“I could live as friend only to Tony.”  Some doubt comes into Loki’s voice now; she knows she could not.  Even if she could…

“Loki, my daughter, for you are as precious to me as any daughter born could be,” Frigga says.  “Child, you must remember, you married for the sake of your own people, that they might have peace.”

“To hell with Jotunheim.  Let it perish under ice forever, only monsters live there.”  Loki cannot possibly believe this, can she? Frigga prays that she does not.  

Searching her mind, she tries to give at least a little hope.  “Your daughter is still young.n She will get her powers soon, and Thor will have his heir, and you can leave.”

“To go to Midgard?” Loki’s voice is sarcastic.  “Where I can destroy Tony’s marriage, or live alone there, instead of here?”

“Truly, what can her daughter in-law do, Frigga wonders?  She is a captive, bound on all sides.

“We have said too much, child.”  Frigga loosens her hold on Loki, kissing her once on the top of the head, as she lets go.  “I will fix you a sleeping potion, since you slept badly last night. Tomorrow you will visit Sir Anthony at his inn.”

“A few minutes of pleasure, that will only remind me that I must say goodbye?”

An edge of steel enters the Dowager Queen’s voice.  “Child, would you rather have a few minutes’ pleasure, or none at all?”

__________________________

After he found out that Loki and Thor were due back to Hlidskjalf, Tony made pains to quit the palace himself, as soon as possible.  The inn where he and all of his comrades have stayed before, is still there, and it can still provide comfortable accommodation. If Jim and Peter have questions about why they must leave despite the Dowager Queen’s hospitality, they do not ask any of them.  They help pack their things, and they make no complaint as a wagon jolts them and their belongings through the cobblestoned streets, to their new lodgings.

Tony was wakened by the nasty comments of servants in the halls, that morning.  That was why he wanted to leave in such a hurry. “It’s not right! The man that cuckolded the King!”  One man’s vulgar comment. Tony and his company had been at Hlidskjalf for almost a fortnight, and not a word had he heard.  Now suddenly, so many; there had to be a reason.

“It’s undignified to have both of them here at the same time,” came another servant’s agreement.  “Why does Queen Frigga allow it?”

“The Dowager Queen has her ways,” said the first, “don’t talk bad of Queen Frigga.  You can bet this is Loki’s work,” he said.

_Loki_.  Not _Queen_ Loki, as it should have been, but simply Loki.  Loki the _giantess_ …

A flare of anger that went through Tony as he heard the talk.  If he were not a guest, he would be in the hallway. A few strokes with the flat of his sword would make the servants regret these infamous words.  If only he were free to act as he chose.

No woman should be insulted so, and especially not Loki!  Tony remembers her words -- _His_ words. -- the day of the fair:  “I have made vows, Tony, I belong to another.”  Loki pushed Tony away at every turn, and she fought against their attraction.  Then when she did succumb finally, she took pains that there should be no child to be an insult to her husband, and yet they would speak of her so?

They would speak of her parentage.  Did she choose to be born a giant? What is so terrible about giants anyhow?  They are people of one kind, Asgardians another, and the Vanir, the Nidavellir, and the Midgardians, are other kinds besides that.  People are people, and all the same in their hearts, where it matters, and these servants would turn their vile tongues against Loki, simply because she -- _He_. -- is different.

The anger faded, to be replaced by regret, as the day continued.  First, there was Tony’s knowledge that he was the reason for the servants’ insults.  If he were not here, surely they would not speak of Loki so? They cannot talk like this all the time?  Then that faded as well.

A thought came to him:  “I can take her with me, we can go away.”  That was gone in moments, though. To bring Loki into Virginia’s home:  An insult to both of them! Just to picture it, the two women, under one roof.  Loki, who is a Princess born: What would she do in New Asgard? How could she begin to occupy herself there?  And what would Virginia think? Tony would not hurt her for the world!

After these thoughts, there came no others.  There was just one phrase, repeated: “I’ll stay away from Loki until we leave.”

Tony was unable to keep the vow, however.  That night, while Jim and Peter lingered over a joint and a pitcher of ale in the taproom, he made his way back to Hlidskalf.  Not into the palace itself, for he would not start the servants’ tongues wagging again. Instead, Tony found a window that opened into the Great Hall.  He peeked inside, seeing the Royal Family at their dinner. Crowds of waiting-people, and men at-arms, servants, going this way and that. There was the table at the center, Thor at the head, where his father used to sit, with Queen Frigga to one side of him, and Loki to the other.

Loki looks pale, to him, and thinner.  She is still so beautiful, though, withall.  She is like moonlight, to Thor’s bright Asgardian sunlight.  And there at her side, who is that? The tiny figure, heavy with too many jewels for so small a child, is that of Loki’s daughter, that Tony has read about.  She turns, just briefly, and he gets a view of her face.

Brown eyes look his direction, just for a moment, out of a face that is not like Thor’s face, or Loki’s.  Whose face is it like? Tony cannot place it. Then as quickly as she looked toward him, the child looks away.  “Mama,” she demands, “a sweetmeat!” She is like Thor, then, for she is selfish like him.

Tony feels a relief, that is surely based on nothing at all.  This could not be his child anyhow, could it? Loki lay with him as a man, and men cannot beget children.  The dates align, that is the only reason that he would even imagine such a thing, that, and the color of the child’s eyes.  Surely a blue-eyed father and a green-eyed mother can have a daughter with brown eyes, though. It is not impossible, it is only rare.

Quitting the grounds of Hlidskjalf, Tony returns to the inn quickly, lest his suspicions return.  He drinks more heavily than usual that night, wanting to silence all thought, but he is not completely successful.


	10. Sweet Sprites the Burden Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come unto these yellow sands,  
> And then take hands:  
> Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd  
> The wild waves whist,  
> Foot it featly here and there;  
> And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Tempest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been changed pretty much all the way through.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, Thor, Loki, Morgan Stark, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Thor goes to Sif the first night he is back at Hlidskjalf; he cannot help it.  The palace feels cold like a tomb, more than that, like a prison. Loki is impossibly silent, walking through her duties like she were not even there.  Thor’s mother seems alone, without Odin there beside her, far more than he’d noticed before he went to the country. She seems old, and unhappy. And the palace duties, how heavily they weigh!

Sif’s townhouse is as it always is.  It is a man’s place, her mother having died when she was small.  Thor finds her just finishing supper with his friends, the Warriors Three.  Four hearty welcomes, Fandral’s casual greeting, Volstagg’s hug, Hogun’s gruff hello, and Sif…  It always goes so easily with her. “You’re back so soon?” Drink is poured, the dish of nuts at the end of the table is passed his way.  “Was the country to your liking, Thor?”

“It was as it always is.”  How easily things go here.

“The hunting?” Hogun asks.

“Better than usual.”  Thor lists deer slain, he tells of bilgesnape traced back to their lairs on cool mornings, and killed just for the sport of it.  “How was it here?”

Four answers:  “It was quiet,” “So hot,” “So boring.”  Sif’s is the only answer that differs; the words are the same, but the tone?  “It seemed an eternity.” A faint, shrill trace that was never there before is in her voice.  

The Warriors Three have known for years that more than friendship lies between Thor and Sif.  They approve of it, too, for she is one of them; they understand her. After a pleasant hour or so of conversation, they take their leave.  Thor is alone now, with Sif.

Though he was not raised to be compassionate, Thor would be kind if he can, to this woman who is so much more than a friend.  “You seem unhappy,” he says, feeling how insufficient the words are.

At once, before he can say more, she bursts out:  “I am with child.”

“Mine?”  Thor wishes the words back as soon as he says them.

“Of course yours, who else’s?”  Sif grabs both Thor’s hands in her own callused ones.  “Thor, you have to do something.”

“But what?  He fumbles. “Sif, you must know I cannot marry you?”

“Why not?”  She stops. Then, with a voice of infinite bitterness, “You will find me a husband, I suppose?  Some impoverished Lord, or a second son, with no future?”

He’s done it before.  God help him, it felt right at the time.  God forgive him, how selfish he is? “Sif,” he tries again, “a King’s son...”  He cannot say the words that always felt so right before.

“You will give him a title, I suppose?  Duke of this or that, something that means nothing?”  Sif’s voice is so harsh, nothing like it normally is. “I am not one of your commoners, Thor, but Bor’s grand-daughter.  My son will be born a Prince, father or no father.”

It is true, but it solves nothing.  How Thor wishes, for once, that his skill lay with words, rather than with weapons!  Or that he had his mother’s compassion, anything except the selfish arrogance that is his.  “You must let me give you a husband, Sif. I cannot let your name be tarnished through my actions.”

“No Thor, not through yours.”  Sif has matured too, hasn’t she?  He never noticed it before, but now it is clear.  Her gaze as she looks at him has something of Frigga’s compassion, and  the set of her shoulders has all the courage of All-Father himself. “I went to you willingly.  If my name is sullied, it is by my own deeds.”

“Still, it should not happen.”

He should marry her,  Thor thinks. Oh, if only he could!  This woman is so like him, she shares his interests, and enjoys his pursuits.  Every time they are together, it is better than the last time, as their understanding of each other deepens.  How different from how own marriage, where what little understanding he and Loki once shared has been destroyed over the years.  By himself, no doubt, but what matters that? It’s gone now, that’s what is important.

Sif lets go of his hands.  Almost, she pushes him away.  “It is my fault for having lain with you,” she says.  “I knew what you are then, Thor. You’re a darling, but you are selfish.  I could have found a husband for myself, but I…” She falters. “I-I let myself care for you…”

Tears.  Is there any man alive, who can withstand a woman’s tears?  How is he supposed to stand here and see her crying like this, knowing it is his fault, and yet do nothing?  What can he do? Surely, there must be something?

“There are ways around this,” Sif says, sounding tired.  “I can raise the child myself, and have him be called a child of infamy, or I can give him to another.”  The tears start again, as she continues. Oh, those tears! Every one of them rips at his heart. “There’s an object for your generosity, Thor.  Find me a family who would be ennobled, in exchange for adopting my bastard.”

A _bastard_.   _His_ son will be _her_ bastard.  “Or you could pay them to emigrate,” Sif says.  “I hear New Asgard is beautiful.”

“No.”  At first, Thor is not sure if he says the word or thinks it only.  When Sif doesn’t respond, he realizes he is thinking it only, but his thoughts are loud enough to be screams.  “No, no, no, no, no! My child will _not_ be a bastard.”

“Do not try to carry this burden alone,” he tells Sif.  “I know I’ve given you little help until now, but I will help.  I will find a way to solve this problem.”

His words seem to give her no hope, though.  “The child will come whether you solve it or not, Thor.”

__________________________

At first, Loki thinks Stark gone already from Asgard.  When she finds out he has yet to leave, she cannot bring herself to stay away.  One visit, and one alone… Frigga’s words ring in her ear: “ _You must stay married, Loki, you must stay here.  For the sake of Jotunheim, for the sake of Sir Anthony’s wife._ ”

For everyone’s sake, except her own.  It will never be her turn for happiness, will it?  Always, she must live for another. Hers is a turbulent people, she should be free to give rein to that turbulence.  God help her though, she is entangled with Asgardians, on all sides, she is snared fast with obligations. Tony loves his “wife in the colonies;” Loki must not hurt her, and Thor will not hold back against Jotunheim without the alliance restraining him.  She is caught in a web of obligations and duty. Protect these innocent people, and those, and those over there.

But she will have her one visit.  The next morning, when she can get away, Loki assumes a man’s form, preparing to leave for the inn.  The change in identity comes as easily as it ever did, albeit, her altered appearance is unfamiliar, after so long without practice.  Her old men’s clothing feels so free, after years in a woman’s corset and long skirts, the hair so short, in contrast with her womanly tresses.  She will not take Morgan with her she has decided, though it would only be right for Tony to meet his daughter. The girl’s presence would be impossible to explain; young men do not take children around with them, and they certainly do not bring them into public inns.  Instead… There is a miniature, painted just last year: Ivory, framed with gold, on a long chain. Frigga caused it to be made as a gift for Loki, on her last birthday. She will take that to Tony as a gift.

“Mama?”  Her daughter’s voice intrudes upon her thoughts.

Loki turns to look into a face suffused with wonder.  Morgan has never seen this transformation before, has she?  She seems amazed by it. “Mama!” The child laughs. “How funny you look,” she says, “like one of Papa Thor’s friends!”

“I am going to visit your real Papa.”  Loki has allowed the truth to slip out once already, why bother lying to her daughter now?

Morgan’s eyes are wide.  “Like that, Mama?”

“When one would visit the tops of the trees, one goes as a bird, when one would explore the forests, one goes as a wolf.  It is the Jotun way.” One small lie, Loki does add, the old lie, she has been telling Morgan her whole life. “You will do it too when you grow older, Daughter, for you are half Jotun.”

“And you leave the palace looking like that, right Mama?”  Morgan is no fool. “So people won’t know who you are?” Just for a moment, it is as though her own shape alters; she is, briefly, taller, a little wider in the shoulders.  Afterward, Loki is not sure that she saw anything; perhaps it was merely her wishful imagination? For that brief second though, it did seem that her daughter had assumed a boy’s form.

This will take careful thought, but that thought must be deferred for now, if she would reach the inn before Tony leaves there.  If she arrives there, and finds Tony already setting sail, then all of this is for nothing. But, after she returns, she will find out what is happening with Morgan.

__________________________

It is well Loki visits when he does, for preparations are already begun, for Tony and his party to quit Asgard.  All necessary purchases have been made; Jim Peter and Tony have just spent the entire morning supervising the loading of their ships.  The colonies of New Asgard having grown over the past years, it now takes three ships to hold the luxury goods the gentry demand. As always, the smaller ships will carry more minor luxuries, for the lesser sorts.  Pewter tableware, flagons of thick glass, and pottery, bravely painted, sugar, needles and pins, and bolts of worsted fabric… Next comes the day for loading food for the voyage, but for now, the commanders of the Stark Mercantile Company enjoy leisure, after their morning’s work.

Loki finds them in the taproom at the inn, enjoying the Asgardian ale they will soon have to leave again.  The bones of the joint and half the loaf they supped on are still on the table, when Tony sees his black-and-green clad figure, silhouetted in the doorway.  Jim sees him as well. He looks at Tony. “Your friend from before. Do you want Peter and me to leave?”

“I would not be so ungracious.”  Tony stands, crossing the room.

Instant, the light that fills Loki’s face.  A smile of pure happiness, moisture in those green eyes of his, that Tony knows so well.  “T-Tony!”

Loki has been too long in woman’s form; he is forgetting how men behave.  Tony would forget as well, though. The harsh manner and rough words that men give other men, even those who lie together out of affection, as well as convenience, feel so wrong now, with this one man, who holds such a place in his heart.  If there were no one around, it would not be so; he would clasp Loki to him, and tell him his heart.

Instead, “Well met again, my friend,” is all he allows.

“We will talk.”  Loki is also forgetting the ways of common folk; even in man’s form, his commanding manner is that of  the Queen of Asgard. “I will tell the innkeeper I want a room.”

It is Tony who secures the private accommodation for them, for it comes better from one who is older, as he is.  “Loki…” Only once the door is closed behind them, does he give way to emotion. Taking those hands, that he remembers so well, again between both of his, he looks into Loki’s eyes.  “Loki, you are still… It has been so long…”

“No jokes today, Tony?”  Tears have filled Loki’s eyes, and they spill onto his cheeks.

Tony feels tears come into his own eyes too.  “No jokes.” He hears his voice, uneven. “Will you give me a kiss?”

“With all my heart!”

Their embrace is tight, as though they could bind body to body.   This would only be right, as their hearts are bound forever. Their kiss is perfect, and yet, all too short.  When he pulls back, Tony tries for his old joking manner. “I never thought I would kiss a Queen.”

“The Queen of your mother country, Asgard.”  Loki tries for lightness as well, though his voice shakes.

Tony’s heartfelt admission:  “And of my heart as well. Forever, Loki.”  He draws him over to two chairs, set by the window.  Sitting, he keeps one of Loki’s hands, clasped in his own.  “There is no risk of harm in your coming here?”

“My husband leads his own life.”  A contemptuous snort. “Why should I not lead my own as well?”

“But if any harm befalls you…”  Well Tony knows that the rules binding wives are different from those for husbands.  “I would not have it for worlds.”

“It would be worth it.”  Loki’s voice is indifferent; he knows, or believes, no harm will come.

Whether or not he is right, the choice is his to make, not Tony’s.  Changing the subject therefore, “Why did you come?” Tony asks. “Not to say good-bye, surely?  You did not come, the other time.”

“I did.  I waited until you were weighing anchor.”

“Loki, I would have loved to see you.”

“I knew that.”  His voice is full of love.  “I feared you would take me with you if you saw me, Stark, and that would have been wrong.”

He would have done, Tony knows it.  He can’t help but want to take him now.  That would be wrong, though, it would hurt so many.

“I brought you a gift.”  Loki fumbles in his jerkin, bringing out a gold pendant.  It lies face-up in his palm, with the chain hanging down below.  Tony looks at it.

“That is your daughter.”  The words acknowledge what he’d not meant to admit, that he has seen Morgan.

A nod from Loki, and an admission.  “Yours too, as well.”

“Mine?”

Loki touches the painted face in the miniature.  “See the eyes? Brown eyes, like yours. And her manner is yours as well, she has all your intelligence and curiosity.”

Part of Tony wants this to be true.  Another part cannot let it be. “A coincidence, surely.”

“She was born nine months after you left.”  Loki takes Tony’s hand and folds it around the pendant, kissing Tony’s hand afterward.  “A gift for a gift,” he says.

Tony kisses both of Loki’s hands.  The soft hands of one who does no labor; but Loki does work, doesn’t he?  Queenship is as much a burden as any manual job. “What will you have, my love?  If I can, I will give anything.”

“Tell me about New Asgard.”

Tony thinks of the endless forests, of the native Midgardians, who are never seen unless they want to be.  He thinks of the small farms around Odintown and Hlidskjalf City, a few acres, hacked out of the forests, and barely tilled.  He thinks of towns that are barely villages, and muddy streets, and neighbors that Svart, and Nidavellir, Vanir, and Asgardian, all mingling comfortably together.  How can he begin to describe all this? It is easier to tell jokes.

“Think of a painting of Arcady,” he tells her.  “You know the ones I mean.”

“Silly.”  Loki’s laugh holds real amusement; whatever he has failed to do, Tony at least has amused her.  “No real place is like that.”

Tony thinks about summers hotter than any Asgardian summers, and winters like icy Jotunheim.  He remembers the herds of deer, moose, and elk, and the flocks of pigeons, thick enough to blacken the sky.  But again, description is difficult; and Loki enjoys his teasing so.

“Exactly like that,” he says, “shepherds playing pipes, always with trees framing them, perhaps a nymph or two, naked of course.”

“And bilgesnapes?”  For now, at least, nothing but fun in Loki’s voice.  

“All the bilgesnapes in the world, my love.  We eat them there, and they’re delicious.”

“Asgardian bilgesnapes are better.”

“Asgardian everything is better.”  

Too soon, of course, the play has to end.  It was a brief respite only, like Tony’s fictitious Arcadian painting.  “You could stay, Tony.” Loki knows full well that Tony will not, indeed, she does not really want him to.  She makes the appeal, nonetheless. “It matters not what I do here. Thor seeks his pleasure; I am free to seek pleasure as well.”

Tony does not need to mention Virginia; she is already in both of their minds.  He need not mention his duties either; of all people, Loki surely understands duty.   “I will be back. Will you welcome me?”

No doubt at all in Loki’s voice when he answers:  “ _Every_ time you come back, my love.”

“Then I will live for that.”  Again, Tony takes Loki’s hands in his.  He presses kiss after kiss on them, a thousand kisses it feels like.  “Will that be enough for you, love?”

“ _I will make it enough,_ ” Loki vows.


	11. Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears a Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,  
> Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,  
> And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,  
> Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,  
> Under the canopies of costly state,  
> And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?  
> O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile  
> In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch  
> A watch-case or a common alarum-bell?  
> Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast  
> Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains  
> In cradle of the rude imperious surge,  
> And in the visitation of the winds,  
> Who take the ruffian billows by the top,  
> Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them  
> With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds,  
> That with the hurly death itself awakes?  
> Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose  
> To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;  
> And in the calmest and most stillest night,  
> With all appliances and means to boot,  
> Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!  
> Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, History of Henry IV, Part II

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Loki, Frigga, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Here is what Thor has learned, since assuming the throne:  A King’s troubles weigh heavier than those of any other man, for they harm not just himself, but the entire realm as well.  His mistake, he thinks, was to marry one who could never be a proper wife to him. Loki the giantess, who is also Loki the giant:  There can be friendship between two that are so different, but there can never be love. Had they not married, surely there would still have been peace between their realms anyhow, would there not?  Despite his many faults, or hers, or his and hers, however it is in the hearts of giants… Despite everything, Loki is not inhumane. He would not have brought war on Thor’s people and his own.

Was it All-Father who was at fault, or Laufey?  Here is another thing the Monarch of Asgard is just beginning to learn:  He knows himself to be flawed. Now he is discovering that his father was as well.  How many petulant tantrums did he used to throw, when he was young, accusing Odin of this and that, and demanding his own way?  Always, there was an understanding beneath: All-Father’s decisions are wise. Apparently though, they were not always. The marriage between Thor and Loki was ill-judged from the start.

“It is because Father did not understand that I could never live up to his expectations...”  There is only one time when Thor can ever share any of what is in his heart, and that is when he has drunk too much, and for too long.  Then the recipients are his friends. They can never fully understand, their own place in life being lower, and their responsibilities less heavy, however, they are staunch in their loyalty.  What he says to them will go no further.

“Thor, Thor, it is no matter.  Why must you talk so?” This from Fandral, his debonair face looking so troubled that Thor almost wishes he’d said nothing.

“It’s the giantess,” Volstagg grumbles.  Sometimes it seems the stout warrior would blame Loki for everything.

Hogun shakes his head.  “It is Sif.” He gestures around the table where they’re assembled.  “You’ll notice, she is not here.”

The quietest of the Warriors Three, Hogun is also the most penetrating.  He will glance on the truth of the situation soon, if Thor is not careful, and all the infamy will fall on Sif that he’s been trying to prevent.  How he wishes that he’d never begun talking… No, he wishes he’d not started drinking, for without that his tongue would not have been loosened.

“Did you have a falling out?”  Fandral attempts tact. “Her temper can be quick I know, but in her way, she is a good friend.”

Thor attempts to repair his mistake.  “This has nothing to do with Sif. The fault was mine.”  The fault… He should get up now and leave, for if he stays, he will surely tell all he would keep quiet.

“You should have married Sif,” Volstagg says.  “You would have had peace then. Everyone knows giants are incapable of peace.”

The old canard, that he has been guilty of himself, too many times:  Giants are turbulent, they are chaotic, they are dangerous. Giants are monsters, but there is no monster here.  Loki obeyed her father, as Thor obeyed his own. They married to cement an alliance that the old kings did not believe would be possible otherwise.  Would it have been? The answer surely, is yes, but now there is no hope of fixing what they have done.

Frustration lies sour in Thor’s stomach, along with all the ale he has put there this evening.  He looks around the table: His friends are mere children, they have no responsibilities, and they play at life.  His own burdens are heavy, perhaps beyond his ability to manage. All the old stories that he heard so many times when he was growing up, about the war in Jotunheim play through his head now.  Men bleeding, and suffering, and dying. Once he was in bed for three weeks, when a jousting injury turned septic. In war, though, there are no safe places where a man can be laid, so that he may recover.  In war, he lies where he fell, and dies slowly in agony.

All around the table are his friends, but they aren’t his friends, they are fools, ignorant fools.  Rising, Thor throws a handful of silver on the table, uncaring where the coins might roll. “You may stay if you want,” he tells the Warriors Three.  “I’m going to bed.”

Behind him as he leaves the inn, he hears wagging tongues.  “Was it Sif?” “It was Sif.” “What did she do to him?” “What did he do to her?”  Secrets are going to come out, and people are going to get hurt, and whatever Thor does, he won’t be able to protect everyone.  How could he have done this to Sif? How could Odin and Laufey have put their children into the position to cause this calamity that now approaches?

__________________________

Is Thor crosser than usual?  Buoyed by her meeting with Tony, it is some days before Loki takes notice.  Then when she does, she thinks nothing of it. Thor is so often cross. It seems he walks about with a storm cloud surrounding him.  Every little thing that happens is a rumble of thunder, and then he’ll lash out, his words like lightning flashes.

“Poor Thor, is the joint cold again?  Did Cook not prepare the soup to your liking?”  There is no malice to her words, only the sarcasm that has become habitual.  “You know what they say, uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

“The giantess speaks.”  Thor’s responses always center around her heritage.  She is “the Jotun,” “the giantess,” “Laufey’s child.”  The words still hurt, but less so than they would have long ago.  These insults too are mere habit.

Always, one thought holds pride of place in Loki’s mind:  In another year, Tony will return. He has to, his company requires it.  He will come back, and Loki will see him; it will be between them, as it was the other times.  They will lie together, and for a few minutes, life will have meaning again, and beauty. So few short minutes, but the memory is enough to color her whole world.  As it must surely color Tony’s…

A new passion Loki has discovered:  There are books about Midgard. Loki has all of them.  One by one, she is reading them. Fantastical the tales they tell!  Can they possibly all be true? Does Tony make his journeys through seas filled with dragons and leviathans?  Do gigantic horned monsters stalk the forests around his house in New Asgard? And what of the native Midgardians?  Have they three eyes, one eye, or no eyes? The stories differ from book to book.

Thor’s grumbling brings unwelcome attention from Frigga.  How funny! For once the golden son has managed to do wrong in his mother’s eyes.  “Son, if you,” she says… “Son, I wouldn’t…”

Loki’s mind is a thousand miles away.  She stalks trackless deserts… Desert! Just the word is filled with romance.  Beside her, a Svart commander, his helmet reflecting the pitiless sun of an uncharted land.  Ahead… Who knows what terrors he will find? And what treasures? Somehow the Svart always do seem to find treasure wherever they go.  Tonight she’ll read more of this, her latest book, and tomorrow she’ll tell the new stores she’s read to Morgan, in what has become their bedtime ritual.

“Tell me about Midgard, Mama.”  Her daughter’s tousled brown hair, so like Tony’s, and her rosy little face, her brown eyes, half-lidded with coming sleep.  “Tell me about the monsters, about the explorers, about the heroes...”

The first book she read:  It is still her favorite. An Asgardian of noble blood, one of the first founders of New Asgard.  He wrote an account of his adventures at the end of his life, after he’d returned home from Midgard.  Strange creatures, called “elk,” and “moose,” and birds…

“Passenger pigeons?”  How Morgan laughed when she first heard the name.  “Whose passengers are they, Mama? What do they ride?  A litter? As we do, when we visit the country?” That adorable laugh of hers, so like Tony’s laugh, how it warms her heart.

“You are like a bear with a sore head, son,” Frigga grumbles, “and more so each day…”

_Pfft, Mother, are you really just noticing that your son has faults?  I could have told you that years ago._

“You must talk about what troubles you.  Problems can be resolved with thought and reasoned discussion.”

That one gets a bolt of lightning sent, for once, in Frigga’s direction.  “I am a man, and capable of a man’s judgment Mother!” Thor is up on his feet, sending his chair tumbling over.  “Give me credit for knowing if a problem can be solved. This one cannot.”

Does Frigga wonder that Loki still eats calmly after her husband has left the room?  Surely she is wiser than that. The Dowager Queen picks at her own food merely, drawing her spoon through the pease pottage on her trencher, and jabbing her knife into the joint as though it were a bilgesnape, and she would deal the killing blow.  Finally, good Mother Frigga is driven to a cross word. “How can you sit there and eat, Loki?”

A cool glance, from green eyes, fork still laden, poised to deliver another bite.  And cool words, “You know how.”

From the looks of her, Mother Frigga is almost ready to throw her own chair down, and follow her son out of the room.  “Must you be self-centered too, Loki? This is no mere quarrel, but something larger. What if Thor is right, and there is a problem that cannot be solved?”

 _What was it you told me, Mother?_ _All problems must be solved, and all trials endured, for the sake of the alliance._

“There are no such problems.”  Loki puts the forkful of meat into her mouth and chews it.  “He has quarreled with his friends, or one of his women. Or, who knows?  Perhaps the bilgesnape got away during the hunt this morning.”

She watches unmoved as her mother in-law gives way to temper and leaves the room.  This is maternal partiality on Frigga’s part, is it not? Nothing real can possibly be bothering Thor, for he is the golden son, and everything always goes his way.

__________________________

It is not Loki’s indifference that frustrates the Dowager Queen.  That is expected; her son has earned it. Rather, though, it is her lack of foresight.  Because there have been petty conflicts before, does that mean now that there can be no real ones?  She has had to step in so many times between her son and her daughter in-law. Thor must not be hurt, when Loki would be cruel to him.  She in turn, must have something in her life to compensate for his lack of love. These two children, bound together by the will of others, have been hurting each other since the day they were married, but that does not mean that something else outside them cannot have appeared, that will now hurt them both.

Thor’s behavior has been growing worse ever since he returned from the country.  He has always been selfish, but now he is unhappy. That’s new. Frigga has tried to speak to her son about this, always, she has been rebuffed.  And the same happens tonight, when she goes to him after their dinner is disrupted.

“You want to talk, Mother?”

“I want to help, child.”

An impatient shrug.  “This is beyond help, didn’t I say so?  Go back to Loki.”

The dining room is a cold place, occupied by  the shell of a woman. Loki is there in body alone.  Who knows where her thoughts have gone?

“It helps to talk to people sometimes, son.”

“I’ve talked to people,” Thor roars.  “Don’t you think I’ve talked to people?  Nothing helps.”

An idea in the mother’s mind:  Something that might perhaps cause her son to be candid.  “Who else can I go to then, Thor? Who else needs my help?”

“Go to Loki.”  His voice has subsided to a low grumble.  “Finally I know what it’s like to live like her, in constant frustration.”

_Are you in constant frustration, son?  What does that even mean to you?_

“Go to her.  She would be free, wouldn’t she?  But she can’t, because of the alliance, and neither can I.  Go to my wife, and I’ll go…” The words stop dead. Thor has learned discretion, at least, whatever else he does and does not understand.

“You’ll go where?”

Thor begins speaking again, his tone sarcastic.  Has he learned sarcasm too? Her open-hearted boy!  “Maybe I’ve gotten some woman pregnant. Mother, have you thought of that?”

He’s thinking about the heir Asgard still needs.  “The woman could be compensated. Thor, you know that.  You’ve done…” -- Words no mother should have to say to her son, but Frigga finds herself saying them. -- “You’ve done it before, haven’t you?”

“With commoners.”  Thor gives an irritated snort.  “Sif would not tolerate it.”

_Sif?_

Frigga’s voice is one she’s never used with her son before, there is anger there, but for once, outrage as well.  “You are married, Thor.  And yet you laid with a Princess?  An equal of your own?”

“I was driven to it,” her son shouts.

All the arrogance, and all the selfishness of the Asgardian royal line has led unto this moment:  Odin’s son, and Bor’s grandson takes what he wants, regardless of consequences, and thinks himself justified.  Frigga’s rage feels hot, and unfamiliar for one Vanir born, but it is justified, she is sure of it. “What do you think will happen, Thor?  Do you want Loki to leave? She will take her crown, and her realm with her. You will be left... With what? War again? Do you think you can defeat Jotunheim when your father and grandfather both failed?”  

It relieves her to see her son bury his face in his hands.  There is still more to Thor than his selfishness, despite his years on the throne.  For a long time he stays like that, then when he looks at his mother, there is pain on his face.  “I cannot take Sif’s pride, Mother.”  

Frigga hardens her heart against her son, whom she loves so much.  “What else would you suggest, son? Unlike Laufey, she cannot make war against you if you insult her.”

He should talk to his wife; he owes her that at least.  But he won’t, will he? A lifetime of getting what he wants has not left Thor with many resources to face a challenge.

“I will let Loki go to her merchant.”  The dubious tone of Thor’s voice says he knows this is no solution.  “I will give her back Jotunheim, if she promises...” His voice falters, dies away.  “Mother,” he says in desperate appeal, “I cannot insult Sif, for I love her.”

“This will be the last time that I resolve your problems for you,” Frigga tells her son, “and I will do it only for the sake of my grandchildren.”

 _Grandchildren_ …  The word slips out, unthought.  But Morgan isn’t really Frigga’s grandchild at all, is she?  The timing makes it far likelier that she is Sir Anthony’s daughter, and thus, unrelated.  If she is no kin though, to the Asgardian royal line, she is then also, no kin to Sif’s unborn child…  It is as she considers this, that the germ of an idea comes to the Dowager Queen. With some negotiation, she might yet be able to resolve this without harm to any of those she loves.


	12. Never a Maid No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,  
> All in the morning betime,  
> And I a maid at your window,  
> To be your Valentine.  
> Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,  
> And dupp'd the chamber-door;  
> Let in the maid, that out a maid  
> Never departed more.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Hamlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came really difficult for me. I think it still reads clumsier than I'd like it.  
> There are so many things I wanted in here, and I tried so many times before I could even express them as clearly as this. You would not believe how unreadable the rough-draft versions were.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Sif, Frigga, Loki, Morgan Stark, Thor, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Sif’s fond Papa:  “You should have married, daughter, years ago.”  Perhaps she should have, possibly life would have gone easier for her if she had.  But she was selfish, spoiled. Of all the men in Asgard, only one ever struck her fancy.  He loved her too, she knows that. He would have married her too, were it not for Odin’s dream of the alliance with Jotunheim.  No man should be forced to give up his life and his happiness, for another’s dream.

When the Dowager Queen summons her to Hlidskjalf the following evening, Sif’s heart is filled with trepidation.  Frigga has discovered her secret, has she not? Thor must have told her. She would stay away to protect her own feelings, but she knows she cannot.  The child within her belly commands her to go. She must secure its rightful place in the world, as Thor’s son.

Entering Frigga’s chambers, she is not happy to see the giantess there as well.  Loki is as a carved statue. She sits, her body still, her face, seemingly calm. Only her eyes, green and active, show any emotion.  What thoughts are in her head? Has Frigga told her of Sif’s dilemma? Has she decided already upon some vengeance? For surely she will not have agreed to any reasonable course; that is not the way of her people.

“Pray sit, daughter.”  Frigga’s face shows nothing but compassion, as she gestures Sif to a seat at her left hand.  She looks from her to Loki, and then back again. “Before I begin, my children, I must beg forgiveness of both of you.”

“ _Forgiveness_?”  The giantess is sarcastic.

“Think twice, Loki.”  Sif cannot hold back a hot response.  “The Queen Mother is always kind to everyone; she does not deserve such disrespect from…”

_From a giant_ …  The words hang, unspoken.  They break her rival’s composure.  This pleases Sif in an ugly way she does not like to acknowledge.

“Say what you mean, harlot.”  There’s a little of that giantish turbulence.  How could Odin ever have expected his son to be happy with one of so violent a temperament?

“Do you expect me not to?  I am Bor’s granddaughter.”

“Silence!”  The Dowager Queen’s shout surprises both of them, and they subside.  “I am ashamed of you,” Frigga continues. “Both of you should know more dignity.  You will let me speak. Your children’s futures depend on it.”

It is strange seeing Loki as she really is again, after so many years.  The composed face she has worn as Queen is gone; again, Sif can see the angry girl she remembers from the incident with her hair.  Flashing green eyes, a look that is almost like a pout; this Loki would do her harm if she could. She cannot say that she would not be ready to do her equal harm back.

“Both of you will behave.”  As she continues, Frigga is pouring refreshment for all of them.  Three glasses of wine, all of them unwanted, pieces of seedcake on three plates, an orange, peeled and divided among them.  Any bite or sup feels like it would choke Sif if she tried it, and from the looks of her rival, she feels the same way. Even Frigga seems to want the food only as a way of occupying her hands.  It is dispensed; with no other way to busy herself, the Dowager Queen sets to breaking her cake into smaller and smaller crumbs, as she talks.

“My son wronged you.”  Frigga addresses Sif first.  “He should never have lain with you, when he was bound to another.  I wronged you as well, daughter, for I noticed the connection growing between you, and I did nothing.  I wronged you as well,” she tells Loki. “I should have told you what I saw. Only my children, you were all so unhappy.  It was good to see a few smiles for once.”

“Transient smiles.”  The giantess’s cold voice.  “What of duty, Mother? I did mine, she should have done hers.”

Her _duty_?  Sif bites back the hot words that tremble on her lips.

“Do not judge her harshly, Loki.  What you did with Sir Anthony, she did with my son.  It was no more than that.” Frigga pauses. It is as though she is gathering her words.  Finally, she sighs, and speaks again. “Both of you have been hurt, my children, and both of you have have hurt others yourselves.  Do not think you are special in that; every human being in all the Nine Realms has been hurt, and has hurt others, at some time in their lives.  I called you here that we may bring an end to it. Would you have your children be harmed as well?”

“Do you know that there are no sex restrictions on the throne of Jotunheim?”  Again that pitiless, giantish voice. “My daughter will inherit her grandfather’s throne, whether she inherits my shape-shifting powers or not.”

“Then she will have one throne,” comes Frigga’s cool rejoinder.  “You have sacrificed almost ten years of your happiness, that she may have two.”

A nod.  Loki’s calm is finally deserting her; there is something almost like emotion in her voice as she responds.  “Morgan may still grow into her powers.”

“I hope so, it would make this easier.”  Frigga looks at Sif. “Daughter, I have devised a plan that would give your child honor, while protecting Loki’s rights as Queen.  Would you hear it?”

Sif nods.  “Pray tell me your plan.”

It seems a strange one at first:  Sif is to marry another, to give her child a name, and then the child is to be affianced to Loki’s daughter Morgan.  “I still believe Morgan will develop Jotun powers,” Frigga says. “She can be wife to your son, or husband to your daughter, whichever is needed.”

But they will be brother and sister…  Won’t they? What is the Dowager Queen saying?  Sif looks at Loki. There were stories about her and a merchant, a few years back, weren’t there?  Has she been foisting a bastard off on Thor all these years? If so, Loki does not deserve to be married to Thor; she does not deserve any dignity at all.

“A bastard should not sit on the throne of Asgard.”  Sif hears her own voice; it is as cold as Loki’s.

Frigga looks at her, kind rebuke written on her face.  “That will be so regardless of which of your children sit there, won’t it Sif?”

It will; Frigga’s criticism is a just one.  And though she would like to see the giantess publicly shamed, Sif recognizes wisdom too, in the Dowager Queen’s suggestion.  She nods. “I will marry my son to her daughter.”

“You will marry your child to her child,” Frigga corrects her, “and they will reign together, King and Queen of Jotunheim and Asgard.  That is well. Loki, have you any objection?”

Loki should not.  She is being protected from the infamy she deserves as an adultress.  Her daughter is to be given the chance to rule Asgard, as though she were a true heir, rather than a bastard  What more could a mother possibly ask?

“Morgan must be allowed to choose her own course,” Loki says though.  “We cannot force another generation to live in loveless marriage.”

__________________________

Sometimes Midgard seems so far away.  Bad enough that it’s on the opposite side of the world; at times like this it seems universes away, far enough to be unimaginable, so far that Tony can surely never return, and Loki will die without seeing him again.  Nights like these, it is nothing to touch the token that he gave her so many years ago. The books of Midgardian adventure do not help, nor brushing brown hair like Tony’s hair, off Morgan’s forehead while she sleeps, and looking into that face which is so like Tony’s.  Nights like these Tony seems like a dream, and love, an illusion merely. Loki might as well be locked in ice in cold Jotunheim. She is alone, and she will always be alone. A tragedy that one cannot die, from loneliness alone.

Neither Frigga nor Sif could understand her objection to what seemed so expedient a proposal.  Certainly in all practical ways, the idea was a good one. It protects the interests of Odin’s grandchild, and of Laufey’s.  Can nobody else see how miserable Loki and Thor have been, all these many years? And Sif too? Selfish and arrogant she may be, but she is human.  Real love for Thor was writ on her face, when Loki saw her this evening, too clear to be ignored. People have ignored love, and emotion, for too long already.  Will they continue to ignore it, and sentence another generation to suffer?

Odin seems so foolish now, in retrospect, and Laufey too.  “You will go and live as his wife,” Loki remembers her father -- _His_ father. -- telling her.  “I order it, I am your father.”  Why was that necessary? What was wrong with him, and with Odin?  Could they not make peace without sacrificing their children?

Still sitting at Morgan’s bedside, Loki looks down at her daughter’s face again.  Her daughter, heir by birth to the throne of Jotunheim. Heir to Asgard’s throne as well surely, by right of the suffering her mother has endured, even though she is not  of Odin’s bloodline. How dare anyone say that she must suffer too, in order to get them? Silently, Loki vows that her daughter shall not bear what she has borne. The thrones will be hers, and freedom as well; If she must, her mother will fight to protect her rights.  Pray God that it doesn’t come to that, though.

__________________________

If it must be done, better to do it quickly.  Sif searches for the Warriors Three, after leaving Frigga’s chambers.  Thor’s good friends… Her friends too, ever since childhood. But she is single still.  Why has it never occurred to her to wonder before that Thor, a married man, is still indulging in the roistering ways of bachelorhood?  

She finds them in their usual inn, occupying their usual table near the fireplace.  A pitcher of ale is there as always, and a plate with the remains of a joint, most of which seems to have found its way into Volstagg’s fat belly.  They look so happy together, the four of them… Fondness mixes with impatience in Sif, as she sees them. They play at life, none of them ever taking real responsibility.  As she used to herself, didn’t she? But now she must consider her child, as well as herself.

“Friends.”  One word, stiffly spoken, rather than the casual greeting she would once have given.

Thor looks up.  At first welcome is on his face, then trepidation overspreads it.  “Sif? Well met.”

“Well met indeed.”  She looks to the Warriors Three.  “My friends, I would crave your indulgence to speak privately...”

Thor’s response, immediately, “With me?”  

Sif has thought this through carefully.  It is not with her lover that she must speak tonight.  “With Fandral.” She eyes the blond warrior, who has probably been flirting with the alewife, just moments ago.  That relaxed attitude of his toward virtue is what makes him suitable though, isn’t it? Hogun would not agree to her plan, and Volstagg, of course, is already married.

“Are you sure?” Thor asks her.

Sif nods.  “Can you take our friends to another room?”

Once they are alone, she sits opposite blond Fandral.  “I would ask you something...” It comes harder than she expected.  “About Thor…”

“You and he?”  At once, concern overspreads Fandral’s handsome face.  “Sif!” He takes her hands. “You won’t go through this alone.”

She won’t, no matter what she has to do.  If the blond warrior refuses her, Sif has already resolved to buy herself a husband; she has pin money enough.  Or, as a last resort, the colonies… How funny if Thor’s lover should book passage on Loki’s lover’s ship.

“Don’t go to an apothecary please,” Fandral asks her.  “They claim results, but I’ve heard of women dying that way.”

“I plan to get married.”  Sif lets her words hang there.

After a moment, Fandral understands.  The looks that cross his face are amusing, and saddening:  Distaste first, at the idea of losing his freedom, followed by shame, then a look of love that tears at her heart.  “You know I would be honored.”

“I know you’ll be miserable.”  Sif feels tears prick her eyes, as she hugs her friend.  “You were not cut out to be a husband. But I will be a complaisant wife, I promise, and will always look the other way when you pinch the alewife’s bottom.”

“I won’t…”

She kisses his cheek gently.  “Yes you will, and more besides.  I don’t mind. There are things that must be done, Fandral.  You must post the banns at the church. I will ask Papa for Mother’s ring, I’m sure he will give it to me.  Papa has a place in the country; I’ll stay there until the child is born. He can take pride in being son to Fandral the Dashing.”

“The son of Thor, you mean.”  The blond warrior looks at her.  “Sif, what happened?”

_Life happened, Fandral_.

“I made a mistake,” Sif tells her new betrothed husband.  “It was not the first mistake made in the situation, but it was mine.  Thank you for helping me pay for it. Frigga would have had the child marry Loki’s daughter,” she continues.  “Loki refused. I think her reasons were good ones.”

“What reasons could she possibly have had?”

“That her child, and mine too, should be free to choose their own course in life.”

“That is wiser than I would have expected, under the circumstances.”

Sif’s child lies warm in her belly.  Well she knows where Loki has derived her wisdom.  Being a mother changes a woman; it is her chance to make amends for the harm she has done, and to build a life for her child that is better than the one she has had herself.  This baby will not have his father’s name, but he will have a name. And who knows but what he may yet claim his father’s throne? Loki said her daughter must be allowed to make her own choice.  She never said Morgan could not choose to marry Sif’s son.


	13. My Lady Sweet, Arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,  
> And Phoebus 'gins arise,  
> His steeds to water at those springs  
> On chaliced flowers that lies;  
> And winking Mary-buds begin  
> To ope their golden eyes:  
> With every thing that pretty is,  
> My lady sweet, arise:  
> Arise, arise.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Cymbeline

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Loki, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Something is wrong with her husband, when he returns from his latest voyage.  He hangs about the house more. “Have you finished your work?” Virginia will ask him, at first, vaguely like that.  Later she becomes more specific, “Have you finished preparing for the auction? Is there not inventorying to be done?  Repairs to the Mark V? Seamen to be hired?” The answers are always the same, “It’s done, I’ve done it, I’ve finished that.”  Is it a fever? But there are no physical symptoms. Does he have reason to fear he’ll be landbound again, as he was for so long after the last journey, and hung around the house getting under her feet the whole time?

He notices strange things.  It is like her whole life suddenly must be examined and commented upon.  “Two fields now, Virginia?” “Tony, I had two tobacco fields when you set sail this spring.”  “Your account books, so neat.” “Tony, you could have looked at them before.” “Virginia, you milk the cow?  You seed the raisins?” “I’ve done all those things for years, Tony. They are a wife’s duties.”

This is the crux of it:  He is only now noticing a wife’s role in life.  He has his own role. Once he was content to perform it, without questioning her about hers.  Now something has changed, and he is satisfied no more. And for some reason he feels he must visit his trouble upon her as well.

It is late autumn, winter will come soon.  And from her husband, questions, and more questions.  “The firing…” “Yes, Tony, I tell them how much wood to cut.”  “And their clothing?” “Tony, you brought the cloth from Asgard yourself.  So much for each servant, it is part of their pay. Did you forget?” “I fear I never noticed before,” he says, and his face is unhappy.”

_Tony, you didn’t need to notice.  That is my duty, not yours._

When he finally comes and speaks with her about what's bothering him, it’s a relief, even though the time he chooses is not opportune.  The time is midmorning, there are a thousand things Virginia should be doing. Her husband too, surely there are things that he must get done?  But he has not been concentrating well for weeks. Best to get whatever troubles him into the open, so it can be dealt with.

“Virginia, my wife…”  This is how he begins.  “I feel I have never told you how grateful I am for all you do.”

There is nothing to say to this.  What would one say? _You are grateful that I do my duty?  What else would anyone do?_   “Thank you, Tony,” Virginia says.  The words feel very empty.

“It is a lot of work to run a household, isn’t it?”    Her husband is fumbling, his words coming out halting and disconnected.  It is as though he knows the things he says make no sense, but he must say them anyway.  “Are you happy, Virginia?” he asks her. “Do you like your life here?”

There are disorders of the mind, as well as of the body.  Does her husband suffer from one of these? Is this why he is talking like this?

“Tony, think about what you’re saying,” she tells him.  “Think about what you’ve given me, wealth, position, comfort.  What more could I ask for? Why would I not be happy?”

It is as though Tony hears the words, and does not hear them.  His face doesn’t change at all while Virginia is speaking. She’s barely finished, when he is talking again.  “But if you could have had a different kind of life…”

Frustrated, she cannot help but interrupt.  “Tony, I was a merchant’s daughter, now I’m a merchant’s wife.  Stop talking this nonsense,” she says, though she sees pain come into his eyes when she says it.  “What other kind of life could I possibly have had?”

He goes away after that.  Virginia watches him leave, her heart troubled.  Her husband’s behavior makes no sense. Men behave so who have lost their money, but she’s seen the account books; Stark Mercantile is wealthier than ever.  Some men might speak to their wives this way before they brought a woods-colt into the house. Virginia has never given him a son herself, and he’d be more than justified to give another woman’s boy his name.  But Tony doesn’t seek pleasure with other women, does he? He’s always pleasured himself with men, up until now.

Ten years of being married to a man who is almost never home have left her with no more skill in approaching him, than he has in approaching her.  Instead, Virginia finds herself going to his subordinate, Peter Parker, who used to board at their house when he was a cabin boy. “Did something untoward happen to my husband the last time you were in Asgard?” she asks him.

A look comes into his eyes, a thoughtful look.  It is a long time before he speaks, and when he does, the words come slowly.  “Tony leads… a different life when we’re in Asgard.”

“Has he another wife there?”  The question seems ridiculous, asked about Tony, but it is what any other woman would ask about her husband under these circumstances.

Peter shakes his head.  “Not a wife.”

“A catamite?” Virginia asks, thinking of stories she has heard of men who live like women, performing a woman’s role.

But another shake of the head.  “Not that either.”

What then?  Gradually, haltingly, the story comes out:  “Have you heard the legends of the giants of Jotunheim, who can transform from man to woman, and back again?  And had you heard that Queen Loki is one such?”

_The Queen_ …  “What has my husband to do with the Queen?” Virginia asks through stiff lips.

“Too much.”  Peter’s voice is unhappy.  “And more every time we visit there.  Mother Virginia, it is like he can’t stop thinking about her, and…  And there are stories.”

“Stories?”

“About Princess Morgan.”

That there should be _stories_ about her husband and the Princess…  That people should be saying that she is Tony’s child, and not the King’s…  That Tony should not have told her about this, but of course he tried, didn’t he?  That was what he was getting at when he spoke to her.

“The King is not angry at him?” Virginia asks Peter.  “For his scandalous behavior?”

He shakes his head.  “We are under protection of Queen Frigga.  She will not allow him to do anything.”

Because Stark Mercantile is a powerful company, and important to the Crown.  Virginia nods understanding. “It is because you protect the colonies of New Asgard.”

“Yes.”  Peter nods.

“And you will continue to do so?”

“Of course.”

This is news, the enormity of which Virginia cannot comprehend.  While he is overseas, her husband has been consorting with Queens, and earning the favor of All-Father’s wife herself.  He has… He is a Princess’s father.

“Does he…”  It feels disgusting to ask this of Peter, who was a boy in her household, so recently, but Virginia must know the answer:  “Does he still… lay with the Queen?”

Peter’s face is red with the same shame Virginia feels, when he answers the question but answer he does, and bravely.  “I think no, Mother Virginia. And I know he loves you, as well as ...As well as the Queen.”

Romantic love has never played any  part in the connection between Virginia and her husband.  They married for practical purposes, two merchants’ families uniting their fortunes for the benefit of both.  That Tony and Virginia got along well enough to work together was all their parents cared about, and yet… And yet it is a pang to hear that he loves another.  That he loves her well enough to violate his loyalty to the King, and get himself talked about in Asgard... That he wears his heart out about her, to the point where he says strange things to his wife…  How is it that this love for another woman could have grown in his heart without her noticing? And she had been thinking Tony so remiss, for not noticing the details of her life!

“Thank you, Peter.”  She lays a gentle hand on his arm.

He looks at her with the expression of the boy he was, so recently it seems.  “You know Tony loves you too, Mother Virginia.”

Does he?  Virginia feels tears starting for a moment.  She wills them away, as though by main force.  “It makes no matter one way or the other Peter,” she says.  “Tony and I married for responsibility, not for love.”

“Like the King and Queen.”

Exactly like them, if one would be so presumptuous as to compare oneself to the Sovereign and his wife.  But that is unholy, an almost treasonous feeling.

“You are a good boy, Peter.”

He throws impulsive arms around her, hugging her tight, as he used to when he was a boy.  “I love you, Mother Virginia.”

“I know that, Peter, I know that.”

__________________________

There is a book that Tony bought in Vanaheim, before leaving to return to New Asgard.  A history of the Asgard-Jotunheim war, it includes a chapter on the history of Jotunheim.  He’s read it, it feels like he’s read it a thousand times. It never becomes any clearer. Dark hints:  “The Jotun are barbaric, their King prevails through force, rather than by custom, as is the case in civilized realms.  There is no such thing as law there, only custom, word of mouth, tales told, and acted upon for generations…” What does it mean for Loki? What does it mean for their daughter?

“There are no sex restrictions on the throne of Jotunheim.”  Tony heard it over and over again, when he was in Asgard, mostly in connection with Morgan.  “Poor child, she’s barred from the throne of Asgard.” “But it wouldn’t be so in Jotunheim, in barbaric Jotunheim, she could rule.”  The talk was everywhere, among high-born and low-born alike. Was it true? That was drove him to purchase the book, the only one he could find that contained any mention at all of Jotun law.  He wanted to know that his daughter would be safe, that she would have some small possession of her own at least, whether or not she grew into her Jotun powers. He’d hoped the book might give him an answer.  No matter how many times he reads it though, the answer is not there, and he remains frustrated.

The little history lies on top of Tony’s map books, in the study at his house in Hlkdskjalf City.  Like those much-used books, it is dirty, and at a touch, it falls open to the chapter he reads most.  He goes to it too much, reading and rereading.  He’s been too much in his study this winter, and thought too much, and worried too much. He knows it’s bothered Virginia, but worry is a canker in his heart.  It won’t go away, and he cannot always be silent. He wants to know that his daughter will be safe, that she will be happier than her mother, but what happiness is there in this world, for a woman?  Virginia speaks of duty. Is that all women can hope for? Duty has never brought happiness for Loki.

“Tony, a word.”  It is his wife.

Tony turns from the profitless, useless book, to speak to her.  “Come in, Virginia.”

She is ever direct.  “Tony, I spoke to Peter.  About you.”

“About Loki.”

He’s not aware that he spoke the words aloud until he sees her nod, hears the words:  “About the Queen, yes, and about your connection with her.”

“With _him_.”  Virginia has to understand that her husband would never have broken his unspoken promise to her, and lain with another woman.

“Him, her, what matters is you did it.”  Virginia’s cheeks are pinker than usual, her eyes are blue pools, not tearful, but close to tears.  “Peter says the company is safe. Is he right, Tony?”

He nods.  It’s good to see his wife breathe a little easier, at this assurance.  “All-Father relied on us to protect the colonies, Virginia. King Thor does as well, though he does not like me personally.”

“I can understand why.”  With the fear of ruin allayed, Virginia regains a little of her spirit.  “You have behaved infamously toward him.”

“Virginia…”  He takes her hands.  “My wife, I did not know who Loki was when I met him.  I only found out later, after…”

“Do you love him?”  

Her interruption stops him in the middle of the assurance that he thought so important.  Tony pauses before answering her question; there must be a kind way to give it.

“Do you love him more than me?” Virginia asks.

What can he say to that?  Didn’t she say herself, so recently:  Their marriage has been built on duty, not love.  But if he says that, what then? He would not hurt her so.

“I love you, Virginia.  You are my helpmeet.” The words are true, though he knows they are insufficient.  Tony has no others to give her.

“I know you do, Tony.”  Some women would look away, when discussing a painful subject.  Virginia’s way is always to face trouble head-on, though, and her blue eyed gaze is as clear as it always is.  “I know you have always done your duty as you saw it, as I’ve tried to do mine. I never thought love was important.”  She stops, swallows, then continues, her voice still even, no matter what painful words she says. “I don’t want Loki to have your love, Tony.  I want it, all of it.”

“Virginia…”  Her appeal is heartfelt, the more so, for the direct words she uses.  How can he resist it? How can he not give her something?

“I know you,” she says, though, “you’re going to try to comfort me.  There is no comfort here. There is no blame either. I know you Tony, you’ll want to tell me this isn’t your fault.  I understand that. You never meant to love her… Him... -- You should have told me you have a daughter, Tony. I shouldn’t have had to find that out from Peter.”

“I tried, you know that I tried.”

“I know you did.”  His wife rises, still looking at him with her same clear gaze.  “I must be alone for awhile, Husband. I need to think.”

One chance encounter…  Just that one meeting at the bilgesnape hunt:  How could one meeting change so much? How could it hurt so many?  Here is the terrible part: If he would look deep in his heart, Tony knows he still would not give up that meeting.  Does that mean he would choose hurt for his wife, for Loki? For Morgan even, though God forbid it? Is he that selfish?  ...Or is it love that is selfish?

__________________________

This child. -- Her child. -- Half Jotun, half Asgardian, whether Tony or Thor is Morgan’s father.  _I still believe she will develop Jotun powers,_ Frigga said, bur really, how would she know?  The two realms were warring so long, their people ancestral enemies.  When before have Jotun and Asgardian united to answer the question? That one transformation, right after they returned to Hlidksjalf:  It was so brief, it seemed a trick of the light merely. For a long time Loki still wondered if Morgan would grow into  powers like her own.  

Autumn passed, and winter came.  Loki took her daughter for walks, as she always had.  Passing through the palace gardens: “Morgan, look, see the raven in the tree?  Watch Mama!”  

At first it was the same as before.  Watching from the sidelines, “Mama is so clever,” the girl would cry, “Mama knows all the best games!”  One day though, one day it was different.

Early in spring that was, snow still lying in patches between the rose bushes in the garden at Hlidksjalf.  Morgan’s rosy face peeped out from the furred hood of the cloak she wore. That pretty face, that seems more like Tony’s every day.  She noticed something, pointed, showing her mother. “Look, Mama, tracks! A fox’s tracks?”

The old game would have been to transform for her daughter.  Before she has the chance though, Loki sees Morgan take the fox’s form.  The long muzzle, sly yellow eyes peeping Loki’s way, before Morgan tries her fox’s legs, and vanishes into the underbrush.

Now it’s Loki’s turn to laugh.  “Morgan is so clever!”

After that, it is like the opening of a torrent.  Every day there are new lessons, cloaked as games.  "Morgan, a swan, a rabbit, a thrush! Morgan, a wolf, an owl!  A falcon, try it my daughter. See how it feels to soar high, and take what you desire."

This is what the games are about, isn’t it?  They’re all about teaching her daughter to take what she needs, and not be bound as her mother has been.  “We are Jotun, Morgan.” She says it again and again. “They call us tempestuous, but we are strong. Never forget that.”

Surprise first.  Loki had never spoken to Morgan of this side of her heritage.  “Aren’t I Asgardian, Mama?”

Loki has never valued her own heritage.  It seems she has allowed her worth to be set by the Asgardians around her.  _Violent giant, a creature of temper, our Asgardian ways are better._

“You are Asgardian and Jotun as well,” she tells her daughter.  “Two people, both strong, both brave, and they have both given their best to you, that you may be better than either.”

“Better?  What do you mean, Mama?”

Loki cups her daugher’s face in a gentle hand.  “We’ll talk of it later, child. For now, let’s play.”

And play they do, the games always lessons as well.  Soaring with the birds, and slipping through the forest on silent paws, as a fox, again, a wildcat, a wolf.  March snows give way to April rains. Word comes to Loki that Sif has given birth. It is a daughter, not a son.  So much for Asgardian foolishness about their superiority, she thinks, a brief, smug thought. The more important thought:  She is glad she has told no one yet, of her daughter’s newly acquired powers.

Even Frigga would let it slip to Thor, that son to whom she can refuse nothing.  Then they would start in on Morgan: Live as a man, rule Asgard as its King, marry that girl, Sif’s child.  Morgan would be caught, if not through coercion, through feelings of loyalty to a beloved father and grandmother.  There would be no escaping. Morgan will be who _she_ chooses to be.  

It is May now, beautiful May, the loveliest of all the lovely months in golden Asgard.  May, which is a portal to the summer, when merchants always visit. Will Tony visit this year?  He has to. Loki would that he be the first to hear of his daughter’s powers, but the longer she waits, the more risk that this choice will not be hers to make.


	14. If You Prick Us, Do We Not Bleed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tag-quote I use here has a lot of ominous implications. That's because my knowledge of Shakespeare is limited, it's not any kind of foreshadowing.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Frigga, Sif, Fandral, OC - Freya, Volstagg, Hogun, Loki, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Sif’s marriage to Fandral changes things more than Thor would have expected.  It was a marriage of convenience merely, was it not? And yet Fandral spends weeks at a time with his new wife at her father’s place in the country.  The Warriors Three, which was always more of a five-person group really, has been reduced to just three people: Thor, Volstagg, and Hogun.

Volstagg’s been married the longest of any of them.  He’s always talked about his wife; jokes, his complaints about his wife used to seem, merely.  “My wife Gudrun told me this,” and, “My wife that,” and, “Gudrun will be after me with a frying pan, if I don’t get home.”  Comments made over a foaming tankard, while the rotund warrior made no effort at all to leave his comrades. Now when he says these things, he acts on them.  “Sorry friends, I’m a married man,” he’ll say, and he’ll leave. Thor and Hogun are alone more and more of the time, and what are they to talk about? This friendship was never one for discussing the minutiae of their everyday lives.

“A hunt…”  Hogun was never as much a hunter as the others.  Combat rather, is his passion, but it is as if he sees his friend’s disquiet, and he would make especial effort to dispel it.  “Deer,” he’ll say, “venison for the royal table… Or bilgesnape perhaps. Come Thor, we’ll wake at dawn, and we’ll go hunting.”

This, while Sif’s babe swells her belly.  “I should go to her,” Thor will say, but he knows he need not.  Fandral will surely send word if anything happens.

“You should not.”  Hogun’s inevitable grunt.  And, as though to soften the words, he’ll suggest another diversion.  “Fowl hunting. -- A joust. -- There’s a country fair.”

“We’re too old for this foolishness.”  Thor has been thinking more and more of his father, lately.  All-Father left him well-secured, didn’t he? Perhaps, more so than was good for him:  A secure throne is his, and a stable realm, and peace. There were no long days filled with nothing but pleasure when Odin himself was young, but rather wars to be fought, conflicts with other realms, and at home.

“Hunting bilgesnape is foolishness yes, and so is drinking all night.”  This is Hogun’s customary response. “You should be out practicing with me in the mornings, Thor.  Combat is a skill every Asgardian needs.”

Too much combat can lead to injuries, whether it is a battle, or merely a practice match with friends.  Though the exercise would be satisfying, Thor knows his responsibility to his subjects. They need a strong King, even in these days of peace.  “A brisk ride out to the countryside instead my friend,” he suggests.”

“You want to see Sif.”  Hogun shakes his head. “Her husband can take care of her.”

 _I want a way to fill the endless days_ , Thor thinks, but he does not say it aloud.

This is the time when he begins bothering his wife again.  _Bothering_ :  Her word.  He thinks of it as an attempt to repair the bonds of friendship that once existed between them.  Once, he tried to remake Loki into the image he wanted. Now he wants to show more respect. “Your books. -- Your magic. -- How is our daughter?”

“She is fine, thank you Husband.”  Loki has always known how to freeze one to the very marrow with just a word or two.

“May I spend some time with her?”

“We’re busy, we have lessons.”

 _His daughter_ should not be kept from him.  But Thor remembers the many despiteful thoughts he’s had about Morgan over the years, that she was illegitimate, that she was half-giant, and yet lacking giantish powers, that she was female, merely.  He holds his tongue and refrains from protesting, no matter how many refusals his wife gives him.

And finally word comes from the country:  Sif has given birth. A beautiful day in Spring, new leaves everywhere, and the sweet smell of sun-warmed ground, coming through the open windows.  Out of decorum, the message is addressed to Frigga, rather than to Thor directly. She understands his concern though, and calls for him before opening it and reading the news.

“It’s good news.”  She has read the first sentence or two.  “Sif is well, the baby’s…”

Prompting her, “The baby’s well?  He’s healthy?”

“The baby is a girl, it says _she’s_ healthy.”  Confusion is writ on his mother’s face as she looks at him.  “Thor, why are we both surprised at this?”

The answer is obvious.  “Because Asgard needs an heir.”

Frigga shakes her head.  “I still believe Morgan will attain giantish powers.  This is something else, Thor.” Laying the letter aside, she takes his hands.  “Loki is a giant, and Jotunheim has a certain reputation, son. And Sif is a granddaughter of King Bor, of glorious memory.  We both expected too little of one, and too much of the other.” 

His mother, as always, spoke wisdom.  Some days later, when Thor finds the time to visit Sif with her new daughter, he makes sure to offer his unqualified approval.  The baby is beautiful, certainly, with a bonny complexion, wide eyes, blue, like Thor’s own, and a wisp of pale-blond hair, making curls across her forehead.  Sif too, has almost recovered. She welcomes Thor, sitting in a chair by the window, with the babe in her arms.

“Don’t look at me.”  Her first words to him.  “I’m fat as a pig.”

“You look like an angel,” he responds, heartfelt.

“I can’t ride for six more weeks, the doctor says so.”  Even as she speaks, Sif’s movements bely her pettish words.  The babe makes the tiniest murmuring sounds, and she is rocking her, putting her to the breast, where she is soon contentedly sucking.

“We’ll be back at our old adventures soon enough.”  Thor, for his own part, knows he is lying too. That part of both their lives is gone forever, isn’t it?  They’ve already waited too long to assume adult responsibilities.

“What is the child’s name”  Gently, he coils one lock of her pale-gold hair around his finger.

“Freya, after your mother.”

“ _Our_ daughter is beautiful, isn’t she?”  Fandral too, is startlingly adult now, more so than Thor would have thought the dashing warrior capable of becoming.  See how he assumes responsibility for protecting his wife’s name, by pretending the child is his own. “She looks like me, I think.  She’s blonde, and she has my blue eyes.”

Thor pushes his own emotions aside, helping his friends with their pretense.  “No one will ever doubt she is your child. She will be a heartbreaker one day, just like her father.”

__________________________

For about a week after they hear about Sif’s daughter, Thor manages to keep his temper.  It doesn’t last. Again, Frigga can hear him raging all over the palace. Her poor son, she thinks, she and Odin raised him too easily.  Are they not at least partly responsible for these childish rages?

How to intervene, though?  What to say, and to whom? “Two girls...”  She hears him say it about a thousand times, seemingly, to everyone.  “One bears my name...” Who receives his disclosures this time? Which of his friends?  “The other shares my blood. But Hogun…”

It is the wiser of the last two remaining members of the Warriors Three, at least.  Frigga lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding

Her son’s voice, still grumbling:  “But Hogun, no heir.”

A mumbled response from that stalwart warrior.  Frigga cannot make out the words. Her son’s response though, is of course audible:  “You know Loki will have none of me!” 

Loki should not have to.  Frigga grows ever more convinced that all of Asgard has treated their giantish Queen unjustly, and the Royal family, all of them, including herself, are they not the worst offenders of all?

“Mother keeps saying...”  He’s speaking of Morgan now, isn’t he?  “She’ll never have Jotun powers,” Thor says, his voice  resentful, “and anyhow, she’s not of my blood.”

“You do not know that.,” Frigga hears her son’s friend protest.  “Once he lay with the Midgardian, and how many times with you?” This salient fact, which Frigga herself had not considered, makes no difference to Thor however.

“She’s a girl, regardless.  She can never have the throne.  And do not think Loki will make good our lack of an heir.  Loki cares nothing for Asgard.”

“...Angry...”  Hogun’s voice, half-heard.  “You speak out of anger, merely.”

Frigga slips away without waiting for more; she’s eavesdropped on her son too long already.

__________________________

She has heard her husband raging.  As expected, he was unable to keep the good temper of the past few days.  This is as it always is with Thor, and Loki does not allow herself to be troubled with it.  Her thoughts are on her daughter, and on Morgan’s powers, still so new. Loki would teach her as much as possible before Tony’s next visit, so that she can show herself off to her father.

“My father?”  Morgan is so much more penetrating now, at nearly six, than she ever was before.  A mere answer does not do her, but instead she must question and question. “My real father, the one you told me about?”

They are at the very furthest end of the garden, too far away, Loki hopes, to be noticed by anyone from the palace.  Even so, it is risky, but there is a transformation she would like to teach her daughter. “Not now, we’ll talk about it later,” she tells her daughter.  “Lessons first. Watch, this rose…”  

A picture she’s been holding in her head ever since her daughter showed her powers for the first time:  _Here, Tony, one white rose,_ she’ll say.  Imagine his delight when he sees Morgan transform back to her true form.

“You try it now,” she tells her daughter.

“Yes, Mama.”  Morgan stops. “We’ll do this for Papa Thor too, won’t we?”

“Papa Thor doesn’t care.”  Loki doesn’t give two figs about this lie for her husband’s sake, but she knows it harms her daughter as well.  This, she cares about. Children are loose-lipped, though. How else is she to keep Morgan from telling _Papa Thor_ too much about what he doesn’t need to know?

“Because of the new baby?  Aunt Sif’s baby?” Morgan parrots the words she’s heard from Loki, but her look says she doesn’t believe them.  “What about Grandmother Frigga, then? Can’t I do my trick for her?”

“For your real father first.  He’ll be here soon enough.”

Morgan sighs, impatient as children are, with having their wishes delayed.  “I want to do it now, Mama, and the other tricks too.” In quick succession, the girl makes a number of rapid transformations, all ones she has learned before.  A bird flutters, a deer stands on dainty hooves, a lady-beetle crawls across a leaf. Then another impatient sigh. “I’ll do the rose, now Mama.”

A troubled mind does not lead well to learning, else Loki would chastise her daughter for her impatience.  “You do it right, and I’ll give you a ginger nut when we get home,” she says instead.

It is easy to change from one human form to another.  Animal forms are easy as well, although the change in size can take some practice.  Changing into plant-form is a more intermediate skill; Loki has shown her daughter how to become a tree, but those are larger than roses and thus, easier.  Loki watches while her daughter’s form becomes green and leafy. “That’s the whole bush, Morgan. Try again.”

“I can do it, Mama.”  Even for one Jotun-born, it comes strange, hearing the rose bush talking.  “Watch.”

On her second try, Morgan becomes a rose, only slightly too large and misshapen.  On her third try, she is completely successful. Loki picks the Morgan-rose up off the ground and kisses it.  “My daughter! My clever little girl!”

“Mama, I did it!”  Loki has to put her down quickly, as Morgan changes back.  The girl jumps around happily. “I did it, I did it! I’m smart, aren’t I, Mama?  Oh, won’t Papa be proud!”

“Papa?”  A surge of anger goes through Loki when she hears the voice. -- Frigga’s voice.  Her mother in-law should not be here!

Frigga comes the rest of the way through the rose garden to join them, happiness blooming all across her face.  “Loki, this is good news, and what a wonderful way to show it. You’ve kept Morgan away from her father too long.”

“Thor is not her father.”  It comes out before Loki knew she was going to say it.

“No.”  One word.  All the happiness leaves Frigga’s face.  “I should have known,” she says, “the surprise is for Sir Anthony.  Nonetheless whoever knows first, this is still good news.”

“Is it?”  It is always so difficult to know how to talk to her mother in-law.  Frigga is so kind, so loving, but her interests aren’t Loki’s, are they?  Her priorities are always Thor, and Asgard; Loki’s priority must be her daughter, for who else will put Morgan’s interests first?

“Morgan is Asgard’s heir now, Loki.  I know the truth, you can’t keep it a secret.”

At her side, the girl inevitably pipes up with a question.  “An heir? Mama, what’s that?”

“Hush, Morgan.”  Loki’s defended her daughter before, she’ll do it again, and again, as often as she has to.  “Morgan is never Thor’s heir, and you know it,” she tells Frigga. “She is not his blood, his heir is that baby of Sif’s.”

“The girl?  Freya?”

Loki had thought about this before.  It is though a vise is tightening. Morgan could reign now as King, all she would have to do is marry Sif’s brat.  Who is to say they would not even be happy together, eventually? Most loveless marriages end better than hers and Thor’s.  The girl could be groomed for her eventual marriage, she could live the rest of her childhood in male form, so it would come easier for her as an adult.  What would be the harm to buy her daughter this high position, with all the power that comes with it, for so small a cost?

Only instinct makes her continue to refuse, only a faint small sense, which cannot be denied, that this decision would be wrong in some way, whether she has words for it or not.  Stubbornness it must look like, to those who see her, stubbornness is what it feels like to Loki as well. But she holds to it nonetheless, for it is necessary. Perhaps time will someday give her the words to explain why.

“What’s an heir, Mama?” Morgan demands again.

“An heir, child?”  Frigga kneels, taking Morgan’s hands in both of hers.  “That is what you are, my precious granddaughter, heir to the throne of Jotunheim, the land where your mother used to live when she was your age.”

“Jotunheim, yes.”  Morgan nods, pleased to understand the subject of the adults’ conversation.  “Mama has told me I am part Jotun as well as part Asgardian. She says I should be proud.”

“You should be proud, child.”  Frigga’s words are so kind. “We should always be proud of our heritage.”  She looks up at Loki. “Sir Anthony will visit again soon, yes? Later this Spring?  I’ll give you until then to keep your secret, but no longer. After you tell him, you must tell my son, or I’ll tell him myself.  He has to know this about Morgan.”

“Morgan will choose her own destiny, Frigga.”

“ _Mother_ Frigga.”  The Dowager Queen’s voice is gentle.  “I understand that you would protect your daughter, Loki.  It is a mother’s instinct. But when you hide who she really is, you are only shielding her from the world she must learn to live in.  Let her try that world. I promise you, she is stronger than you think.”

The words are so beautiful, and Frigga says them so easily.  Perhaps if they came harder from her, they would be easier to believe.  Loki looks at her daughter: She’s not yet six. How strong can she be? A few persuasive words from her grandmother, or one of those boyish appeals that Thor’s so good at:  What then? She’s too young to even know what she wants for herself yet. Loki sealed her fate, though when she chose to teach her a trick here, too close to Hlidskjalf. She should have kept their lessons far, far from the palace, instead of trying this foolishness with the rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding a clarification: Thor knows that Morgan isn't his, but he doesn't care all that much, since he believes Morgan is never going to be able to sit on the throne of Asgard. The problem is going to come when he finds out that Morgan has inherited Jotun powers, because of course he doesn't want a bastard to be his heir.


	15. Seals of Love, but Sealed in Vain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take, oh take those lips away,  
> That so sweetly were forsworn,  
> And those eyes: the breake of day,  
> Lights that do mislead the Morn;  
> But my kisses bring again, bring again,  
> Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that came out clumsier than I meant it to. I knew what I wanted to say, but getting it to read smoothly was a challenge. Hopefully I at least got my point across.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Loki, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Tony continues restless throughout the winter, and into the following spring.  He’s thinking about Loki, isn’t he? About her, and the child she bore him? Not that he ever says anything about it to Virginia.  Probably, he doesn’t say anything to anyone. Tony is always silent about the things that trouble him most. Virginia’s heart aches for her husband.  He hurt her when he confessed his love for the Queen, but that doesn’t mean she wants to see him in pain. She’ll see his face, that expression that purports to be the same as always, but with a look of suffering in his eyes, that saddens her.  Or she’ll pass his desk, see that history book of his, open again to the chapter on Jotunheim. If he’d just talk about what’s bothering him! If he’d just share his troubles… Not even with her necessarily, but with someone!

It shouldn’t be her though, this is reality.  Virginia knows all too well that she could not give him the comfort he craves.  Her husband risked his heart in the wrong place. There is a reason why one should not love above one’s station.  And a member of the Royal family? How could he? Everyone with a drop of royal blood is bound by politics, with less freedom to order their own lives than even the meanest beggar.  Tony can never give Loki the happiness that he wants for her, he can never protect his daughter, for the course of both their lives is dictated by forces far above them.

Virginia keeps silent about all of this, for she knows her husband doesn’t want to hear it.  She continues to make their home as pleasant as she can, for both their sakes, and she continues to do the work that needs to be done.  Once only, is their talk that comes close to the thoughts in either of their minds. This is in early Spring. Tony is readying his ship for the annual journey to Asgard.  Virginia, meanwhile, has been busy at home. The tobacco seedlings are nearly ready to plant. There are three fields this year, one that will go to their man Happy, when his indentures are completed, later this year.  He and Virginia spend the day preparing the fields for planting, while Tony is at the docks, seeing to the Mark V.

Virginia returns, with Happy, after their day’s work is done.  She finds her husband at table, finishing a meal. He looks up.  “It’s an odd hour, I know, but I was sharp-set. I had Cook prepare food for me.  Do you wish I’d waited?”

If he’d waited, he wouldn’t have been Tony, who is always so impulsive.  “I’m sure there’s more.” Virginia sends Happy to the kitchen, and soon enough, as she’d expected, a meat pie and mugs of cider are furnished forth.  She sets to, gesturing to Happy, that he may sit at the table with her. This close to the end of his indenture, he is less of a servant and more the neighbor that he will be by the end of the year.

Her husband, for his part, hangs about.  At first he makes conversation about trivialities, then he falls silent.  Then finally, coming out with what she knows has been troubling him: “Virginia, I might…”

Is it the child, or is it Loki?  And what scheme has he devised that will pretend to solve the problem?  “Yes?” Her look toward him is gentle, but with some skepticism there.

“Would you mind…”  He stops, tries again.  “Virginia, if the child lived here…  If she lived with us, would you be unhappy?”

What scenario is he imagining where a Royal Princess could ever live with commoners?  She would be the center of schemes and plots, her whole life. Only Tony Stark could imagine such an impossibility.  “Tony,” Virginia begins, “you must trust the Queen to take care of her daughter…”

A cry, heartfelt, “But what if she can’t?”

Tony should have thought of this before he laid with her.  Virginia bites her lip. Then, “ _If_ the child lived with us…”  It’s such an impossibility that it’s difficult to picture.  The fate of a Royal Princess must be decided by the King and Queen, and if she is spirited away from Court, trouble will surely  come. “You’re asking if I would hold Morgan’s parentage against her,” Virginia says. “I would not. But Tony, this is not your choice to make, but the Queen’s.”

“And if she cannot do what my daughter needs?”

All the things she wants to say crowd into Virginia’s head:  She’s a Royal bastard, the King could kill her… arrest her, if he chose.  Things like that happen, children die. Tony, you made the choice to love above your station, did you not know there would be consequences?  You brought this danger upon the girl. You should have turned away from Loki as soon as you knew who she was. She says none of this though, for she knows it would do no good at all.

“If you choose to bring the girl here,” she tells her husband instead, “I will help you as much as possible.” Virginia throws a look at Happy, who looks back at her.  At that moment, it feels that he is not a servant, not even the neighbor that he will be, soon enough. He is a helpmeet, rather, giving her the support that he husband should, but which he cannot in this instance.

__________________________

He finally asked Virginia if Morgan could stay with them, before he left for Asgard.  Her response was what he would expect, knowing his wife. There was the staunch yes, betokening her belief that a woman must always support her husband in his plans.  With that, there was the look on her face. That look said that she saw risks Tony had not foreseen. Better if she’d told him about them, certainly, but Vrginia is not the one to blame for the distance that has grown up between them.  Tony hurt her with his behavior; he’s lucky that she still gives him anything, even if it is not all that she used to give.

The plan is not a good one, but it is an emergency plan only.  Loki will have a way to protect his... -- _Her._ \-- daughter, surely.  He is a Prince in his own right, through his father, King Laufey.  His power is more than a mere consort would have and no doubt, he can keep Morgan safe himself.  This is a conversation they will have when Tony arrives. He will make him discuss it, whether Loki would or not.  “It is my right as Morgan’s father,” he’ll say, trusting Loki to understand and respect that.

It feels like the journey to Asgard has never been longer.  The normal tasks of life aboard ship feel like enforced idleness.  With both Jim and Peter captaining their own ships, Tony feels that he has no one in whom to confide.  At the same time though, he knows that if they were there, he’d be tongue-tied, unable to discuss the problems that weigh most heavily.  “Captain’s on a tear.” “Don’t talk to him.” He hears the comments, made when his crew members think he’s out of earshot. He knows they’re taking note when for once, he takes more than his assigned share of the shipboard grog.  It is a captain’s privilege certainly, but it has never been one he bothered asserting in the past. Now it feels necessary, only to keep him calm until they reach Asgard.

And finally they do, and it is a relief.  Tony steps onto dry land for the first time in months, again he breathes the odors of crowded Asgard.  Jim and Peter have arrived earlier than he, though his ship set sail before theirs, and they are waiting for him on the dock.  “Tony!” A hug from Peter, who has been with him since childhood, and a stout handshake from Jim. “Glad you arrived, did you have a good journey?  You’re eager to have a real meal again, I’m sure?” From there to the inn. Tony feels that he can unburden himself for the first time in a long time, now that he is with friends again.

“Have you heard anything about Loki since arriving?” he asks.

Jim and Peter look at each other before answering.  For a moment, Tony’s heart is in his throat, fearing the worst, but it proves to be only more of the same unspoken criticisms he’s seen in his wife’s eyes so many times.  “She’s the Queen Tony, and you’re only a merchant.” It is what everyone thinks, isn’t it? At least Jim is willing to say it aloud. “You should never have let your heart get involved like this.”

Peter’s objection is similar:  “You have a good wife and a good home.  Meddling with the Royal family can only lead to hurt.”

These are objections that anyone would have.  He’s had them himself, a thousand times or more.  At this point though, they’re a waste of breath. “Setting that aside,” Tony asks his friends, “have you heard anything about Loki?  Or Morgan?”

“The Princess?”  Peter gives Jim another speaking look.

Jim for his part, says as though unwilling to say it, “We have been invited for an audience with Queen Frigga.”

“You’re afraid I’ll go off with Loki?”

Tony’s two friends look at each other again.  Then from Jim, “Only because we know you’ll get hurt.”

“You will go with her Tony, as you’ve done before.”  This from Peter. “The Queen doesn’t need you to protect her, Tony.”

_Yes, but Morgan might._

“If I once find out she’s safe, and my daughter too…”  As he is saying the words, Tony has complete conviction that they are true; he will _make_ them true.  “I just need to know that they are safe,” he tells his friends.  Once I know that, I can say good-bye and not worry.”

“You won’t say goodbye to her.”  Jim’s objection, deserved, certainly.  “You know you won’t.”

“I will because I need to,” Tony tells him.  “I know I need to. This connection is not good for either of us.”

__________________________

Tony’s arrival in Asgard is a red-letter day.  Thor is off somewhere of course, probably visiting his bastard in the country.  In truth, Loki knows not where her husband is; her life and his have become so divorced over the years that she can go for weeks without noticing his comings and goings.  Is he working? Perhaps. Such little work as it takes to maintain the stability All-Father bequeathed him. Is he with the Warriors Three? Those childish friends of his, who have always been there ever since Loki first knew him?

He is not at Hlidskjalf when Tony arrives, that is what is important.  Frigga has sent an invitation, she told Loki about it. “You can give him the greeting you want to.”  Her voice, as always, is so kind. “You can tell him about Morgan.” Unspoken, the other words, the ones that matter most:  _And then I will tell my son.  Thor needs to know, Loki._

Thor does _not_ need to know.  Let him remain in ignorance, let the entire realm remain in ignorance.  Let Morgan be what she is now, a Princess merely. Loki was a Prince, then at her father’s behest she became a Princess.  That was wrenching enough, but at least she was old enough to understand the reason. Morgan should not be asked to do similar, not until she can understand as well.

“It will be good to see him again.”  Long practice has given Loki the bland tones, the smooth face that she needs, as she responds to the Dowager Queen.  All the rebellion inside her stays hidden, which is where it should be, and all the plans stay there as well.

Her plan is simple enough, and she carries it out the night before Frigga’s planned audience at the palace.  Again, her men’s clothes are called into service. This time though, she has another pair as well. A small jacket, breeches like doll’s breeches, and hose of comparable size.  Morgan’s usual black shoes will serve, and how comical she looks, when Loki dresses her. Next comes the transformation: “Look,” she tells her, “see Mama?”

Morgan claps, delighted as always, when she sees stubble appear on her mother’s now-manly chin.  “Me too, me too,” she cries, “I’ll be a boy as well!”

A year ago, her transformation was incomplete.  Now it is perfect. Morgan’s female form is tall for her age, and willowy, as Loki’s form is.  As a boy she is stockier, the resemblance to Tony more apparent. “See me?”

“Yes, daughter, I see you.”

“Daughter?”  Morgan laughs.  “Say son, Mama, say son!”

“Son then, my son…”  _But only of your own choice, Morgan…_

They venture out into twilight streets, everything new to little Morgan, who normally must stay at the palace.  “The streetlamps, Mama, look, they’re lit!”

“Yes child, as they are every night.”

“And the cobblestones:  They hurt my feet! But we’re commoners now, aren’t we?  We can’t use the litter.”

“Yes, we’re commoners. -- Hush child, or people will hear you.”

“I’m hushing Mama, I’m hushing.”  She doesn’t do it well, but she tries, and they are not accosted on their way to the inn where Tony and his men will be staying.  Loki prays that they are unobserved as well. But whatever happens, she _will_ protect her daughter.

 It is late when they arrive at the inn, and a good thing.  Tony’s friends have retired for the night. He remains alone in the taproom, as though he expected Loki’s visit.  And seeing her -- _Him._ \-- arrive, Tony stands.  His look of welcome is all it should be, at first delight unalloyed, when he sees Loki, followed by a look of surprise when he notices Morgan beside him.

His words are proper as they should be, however.  “Your son my friend, isn’t it late for him to be out?”

“He wouldn’t go to bed when he heard you were here.  His mother said he could come along.”

A small spurt of laughter from little Morgan, at Loki’s words.  She... -- _He._ \-- hears the pretense and is delighted by it.   Loki’s hand grows slightly tighter on the child’s shoulder, enjoining against disclosure.

As before, they repair to a private room, where they can talk unheard.  “Tony, I would like you to meet your daughter.” Loki kneels for a moment, talking to Morgan.  “Child, do you remember me talking about your real father?”

“Of course!”  The happy response.  “I’ll do my trick for him.”

“You’ll do it again when Grandmother Frigga is there, Morgan?”  She must, else there will be questions.

“If you want me to, Mama.  And Real Papa must pretend to be surprised.”

“I’ll pretend.”  Tony cannot seem to get enough of looking at Morgan.  Where normally his gaze is all for Loki, now he looks and looks at the child.  But of course he does. This is the first time he’s seen Morgan, isn’t it? “Show me what you can do.”

The transformation from child to rose and back holds no more joy for Loki, since it has put Morgan’s future at-risk, but of course her daughter understands none of that.  For Morgan, this is still her wonderful trick… Or his? Or hers and his? This is the child’s first chance to show off her Jotun powers to a new person, however one would say it; she is naturally proud.

And Tony responds in a way that would fill anyone with happiness.  He responds as though children were second nature to him. “A flower?  How pretty.” He picks her up. Then when Morgan transforms back, his arms come up naturally to cradle her.  “No, not a flower, but a little boy?”

“A girl, a girl, Papa!”  Morgan’s delighted squeal.  “I’m a girl, look at me!” She regains her normal willowy form, the nut-brown hair, always more like Tony’s than like her mother’s, again cascading down her back.

“You are!  How amazing, how wonderful!”  Tony’s look, directed at Loki, says things he cannot say in front of Morgan.  _Is she safe,_ he is asking.  _What is her future here?_

“The Dowager Queen protects all those who are of use to her.”  Loki intends merely to reassure Tony, and the bitterness he hears in his own voice surprises him.

Tony however, comprehends.  “She knows, doesn’t she?”

“That Morgan has her powers?  Yes.”

The child interrupts, the worst possible time.  “Mama? Are you talking about me?”

Loki, who would speak honestly for the first time in long months, cannot repress an irritable response.  “Hush Morgan, the adults are talking.”

“Let me get you a treat.”  Tony settles their daughter with a piece of cake and a glass of small beer, before turning to Loki.  “Tell me.”

“Thor has a bastard, a girl.”

“Two Princesses, then?”  Tony stops, comprehension dawning.  “No, one Princess, and one who can be Prince or Princess.  Is that what troubles you, Loki? Why, though? She’s safe at least, though.  That’s something, surely?”

“She’s safe, if she would live a lie, as I have.”  Loki’s bitterness is fast becoming pain, more pain than she’d even realized was there.  “Another father telling his child, ‘You must be this,’ and ‘you must do that…’ As my father did.”

“Oh my love!”

In Tony’s arms, Loki feels tears start.  If he only understands! But he’s a commoner, how can he?

“Please though, reassure me,” he says.  “Thor accepts Morgan as his own?”

“Thor never cared.”  Loki wills the tears back so he may speak clearly.  “Why should he? A Princess matters so little.”

“You could take her.  You could go to Jotunheim.”

“Laufey also would want her to obey.  As I had to.”

Tony’s words come out tormented, sounding like Loki’s own.  “I am merely a commoner. I don’t have the power to change anything.  This is why people of different stations should never love, everyone told me so!”

“Do you regret our love?”  Even worried about Morgan as she is, Loki must ask it.

“Never for my own sake!”  Tony’s passionate declaration.  “But now other people are involved.”

It is the first time his declarations of love have been anything but wholehearted, and it hurts.

“ _Other_ people.”  One of those _other people_ is Loki’s own child, and yet…  He pulls free from Tony’s arms. “Morgan’s future is safe, Tony.  No doubt he’ll make a good King for Asgard and Jotunheim. And as for me…”  _Why cannot I have happiness,_ he wants to demand.  _Is that too much to ask?_   Tony feels a weak reed, though; he cannot help.  This is one more trial that Loki must face alone.

“Loki…”  One last appeal from Tony, but Loki turns away.

“It’s late.  We must go. Come, Morgan.”

All the way home, the child peppers Loki with questions.  “Was that my real father? Tony? Is his name Tony? Does Papa Tony like me, and did he like my trick, and will I see him again?”

Finally, “Hush, child.”  Again, the words are harsher than Loki intended.  “Your mother must think.”

“Yes, Mama.”  Morgan is silent the rest of the way home.


	16. Thou Art Thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy:  
> Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
> What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot  
> Nor arm nor face nor any other part  
> Belonging to a man. O be some other name.  
> What’s in a name? That which we call a rose  
> By any other name would smell as sweet;  
> So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,  
> Retain that dear perfection which he owes  
> Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,  
> And for that name, which is no part of thee,  
> Take all myself.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The genesis of this chapter: The last one left everyone so unhappy that I was afraid I really couldn't continue. But of course emotions fade, don't they? Fictional ones, just like real ones. I hope the tone of this doesn't feel too jarring after the last chapter. Transitions are difficult to write sometimes.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Loki, Odin, Frigga, Morgan Stark, Tony Stark, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Thor, Sif** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Loki had thought the anger would last, after seeing Tony.  It does not. At first all she can see is that he is not the salvation she was craving when she went to him.  And that look on his face: Do you regret our love? she asked him. “Not for my sake,” he said, and that look.  “Now other people are involved.” That look should not have been there, it felt like. Always before, she came first when she was with him, and never any other.  That should not have changed. She went to him for help, he should have given help, he should have protected her, her and Morgan.  

After awhile though, the anger does fade, and the fondness is there again, as it was before.  Her Tony. He cannot protect everyone, but he wants to so badly, doesn’t he? Loki sees their night meeting again, but through a new lens.  Those fearful looks he gave her, looks that said more than any of his words: _Is Morgan safe here,_ he was asking.  _Will she be safe here?_   Was he really worrying about that, the whole time they were apart?  This is what it is to be a commoner. Loki was concerned about their daughter’s happiness, but Tony…  Poor Tony just wanted to be sure she’d not be harmed.  

He didn’t understand how things were, but how could he, when he’d been gone for ten months out of the last year?  And Loki never explained, but just blamed him for not being the bulwark she’d craved. Well then, he isn’t. But he is still so dear!

The following day, there is a state audience.  The King is supposed to meet with the leaders of Tony’s company, granting new charters for the next five years.  This time there will be three charters instead of two, the third in the name of that young captain, the one Tony calls Peter.  Frigga’s decision, for Thor has been more and more distant, since his bastard was born.

“New Asgard is growing...”  This is what court etiquette is:  Frigga should have said these things to Thor. -- No, he should have said them himself, to some advisor or another.  A Dowager Queen should not be responsible for governance, but with the King gone so much, she has assumed the role. “...Our colonies in Midgard grow ever larger,” she’d said.  “They will need protecting and provisioning. I have no great love for Sir Anthony, I’m sure you know why.” Here she stopped, gave one of those speaking glances she’s so good at, toward Loki.  “He is good at what he does though. There is a reason why my husband trusted him. Will you present the charters if Thor is not there tomorrow?”

Why did it feel that Frigga was angrier at Loki than she was at her own son?  Say simply, that is how it felt. The charters needed to be presented nonetheless.  Loki’s ladies in waiting set out court dress for her that night. Cloth of gold and ermine, a ruff higher and more ridiculous than any she’s worn before, a waist she had to be corseted painfully, to fit.  Cosmetics, painted an inch-thick on her face, a hairstyle so rigid it could withstand a cannonade.  

Morgan stands to one side, watching as she dresses.  “Mama, will I dress like that too someday?”

“Would you want to, child?”  How could anyone want this cruel, restrictive costume?  But Morgan is being raised as a Princess, not a Prince. Perhaps her priorities are different.

“Maybe…”  Morgan stares at Loki, unmixed admiration on her face.  “You look pretty, Mama.”

Downstairs, Thor has not arrived.  Frigga presides over a roomful of dignitaries with the poise she’s always shown, since Loki’s known her.  “Are you prepared, my daughter?” she asks, a quick aside.

“I am not your daughter.”  Loki too, turns a look of perfect etiquette toward the assemblage.  “But I am prepared.”

There are other tasks that need accomplished, before presenting the charters.  So many tasks, a King’s, all of them. Stupid Thor, he should be doing them, and yet he walks away.  Loki greets a delegation from Nidavellir, “Welcome, in the King’s name. He will be at the state dinner, to greet you himself,” she says, wondering inwardly, whether she is telling the truth.  There are small proclamations to be read, a gift from some cloth-merchants to be acknowledged. Finally, the charters:

Tony is the same magnificent figure in red-and-gold, that he was six years ago…  The same, but not the same; that careworn expression is a new one. Any anger that was left in Loki’s heart melts away at that expression, and all that is left is tenderness.  Dear Tony: He is in his own way, as miserable as she, isn’t he? Behind him stand his two fellow captains: Rhodes is a fine figure of a man, broad-shouldered, but thinner than Tony, and with the dark complexion that betokens ancestry from the south of Asgard.  Parker looks barely a boy, still slighter than the others, and with a wispy, young man’s beard.

“Our brave subjects, welcome…”  Tony’s eyes meet Loki’s, a beseeching look.  Bound by etiquette, she can make no acknowledgment, but perhaps he can read her feelings, as she reads his.  “In the name of the King, my husband, I would present these charters to you… Two, for the two heroes… A third…”  Two things are happening here, one is the business that must be done, for Tony to continue his work. The other the emotional one, feels more important, but the charters are essential to Tony, aren’t they?

Just for a second, their hands meet, as Loki gives Tony his charter.  “Loki,” he dares say, breaking etiquette, “I need to talk to you.”

“After the state dinner.”  Loki turns away, again the Queen, and representative of the King.  “And for you Captain Rhodes, and Captain Parker.” Their thanks seem mere mumbles, the rest of the audience slips by in a blur.  Loki is serving her role, as is her duty; she is doing the work of the Crown, that her husband cannot be bothered to do. Asgard will proceed, strong and secure as always.  In her anger, she would have thought she didn’t care at all about that, but she does care. This golden realm has become hers somehow, despite all her tribulations here… Her’s, and in some way she does not quite understand yet, her daughter’s as well.

__________________________

Where does Loki get this courage?  Last night he seemed broken, bereft.  Today is like the transformation of a phoenix, from ashes, into glister, and controlled power.  Tony had planned what he would say when he saw him again: “My wife told me she will take little Morgan.  She can live with us, she’ll have a future in New Asgard.” Then, when Loki asked, _What about me?_   “Come with me too, it’s a big land, and so free. -- You’ll love it there, Loki.”  Was he really going to say that, to a Queen? How easily Loki assumes the robes of state and wields the Crown’s power.

Tony and his comrades are invited to tonight’s state dinner.  It will be the same as they always are. “See, there’ll be diplomats there…”  Peter has grown so cynical, after a few of these things. “Nidavellir, wasn’t that where they were from?”

A grunted answer from Jim, busy buttoning his doublet.  “I think so.”

“Nidavellir is allied with Svartalfheim I’ve heard,” Peter says.  “The King wants us there to remind them we protect New Asgard.”

“Probably.”  A button flies off, and Jim lets out a muffled curse.  “God damn these state clothes!”

“You could get new ones.”  Tony is not one to talk, his own clothes being some years out of date.  Only he’ll picture Loki, looking for the flash of red-and-gold at the lower tables; he can never bring himself to replace the costume.

“For a once-yearly visit to Hlidskjalf?”  Jim secures the buttonhole with a brooch, and continues dressing.  “Did you notice that the King wasn’t there today?” he says after a time.

A nod from Peter, no words.

“I don’t like to talk about it Tony, but you’d best take care.  If King Thor withdraws his approval for us, where are we?”

Loki’s words from last night:  _The Dowager Queen protects all those who are of use to her._   It’s the answer Jim needs, but it’s also Loki’s prison; Tony thinks of that, and a pang goes through him.

“The King needs us protecting New Asgard.”  He forces his voice to remain calm.

At the dinner, the three comrades are seated near the first table, close enough to be fully visible to the Nidavellir delegation.  “I said so.” Peter is pleased.

“Just behave with decorum tonight,” Jim cautions Tony.

Passions are always constrained by duty.  Some can find peace with that, but all must accept it, peace or no peace.  “You know me.” Tony makes his words light. “I am a man of decorum.” Jim’s look says that this is no time for jokes, but he does not respond.

The meal begins.  It is the same round of magnificence as always.  A joint and a pitcher of ale at the inn would be more welcome, but they are the protectors of New Asgard, and must play their part.  “Bilgesnape again?” For the sake of appearances, Jim too, is managing the pretense of humor. “Didn’t we have that yesterday?”

“I believe that was swan.”  Peter pokes at the heap of spiced meat with one feather still attached, that sits on his trencher.  He lifts his goblet and takes a gulp. “At least the wine is good.”

More dishes follow, hot dishes and cold ones, savory ones, and sweet.  After that, as always, there are speeches. Loki again, Tony notes, does the duties of the King.

“Have a care Tony,” Jim cautions him again.  “You must not talk to Loki tonight.”

They’re safe though, aren’t they?  Loki assured him of that last night.  “I won’t put the company in jeopardy Jim, you can be sure of that.”

“What about you, though?” Peter puts in.  “We’re your friends, we don’t want you to be hurt.”

_Oh as to that, it’s impossible, Peter.  Tony has been hurt, and he will be hurt.  With love comes pain, and especially when one loves above one’s station, but would he turn from Loki because of that?_

“Worry about yourselves, friends.  You’re the ones whose feet will ache after a night of dancing.”

The formal dances are over, when Tony sees Loki slip away from the crowd.  Amid the riot of the haut-dances that always follow, he manages to get away himself as well.  Loki is waiting for him in an ante-room, like he did before… Like _she_ did, for of course she was in female form then, as she is now.

Tony greets  her. “You are a beautiful Queen.”

“It is my birthright.”

It isn’t of course; Loki has shared that with him before.  Raised as a Prince, he was compelled into the female role only for his marriage to Thor.  This is why he fights so hard to protect their daughter from a similar fate. 

“Your royal ways are unfamiliar to me, as a commoner.”  Tony makes so bold as to take Loki’s hands, and he -- _She._ \-- doesn’t spurn him.  “Can I dare to hope you’ve forgiven me for failing you last night?”

Loki’s face says that he has ( _she_ has).  It also says that the pain remains.  _Oh Loki, it is on both sides!_   “Tell me that you love me, Tony.”

“You know that I do!”  Heartfelt words.

“Tell me anyhow.  I want to hear it.”

“You are more than life to me.”  Tony kisses Loki’s hands, those pale, soft hands that have always been so precious to him.  “You remember when we first met? I knew then.”

Loki is in his arms.  How did it happen? Tony knows not, but he holds her, feeling her warmth, the familiar comfort of her body, close to his own.  “You did not.” Tender playfulness is in Loki’s voice. “You talked of bilgesnapes.”

“Yes the bilgesnapes, I remember. -- Can I kiss you, Loki?”

“You could go into my very chamber with me, Thor wouldn’t care.  Anyhow, he’s not here.”

Kisses follow.  They are the kisses they should have shared last night.  They could do more together too, couldn’t they? There are storage rooms near here, if Tony didn’t want to risk a more public display.

“Does the King really not care what you do?”  Despite her permission, he has not touched her beneath her clothes, has barely smeared the paint on her face with his kisses.

“Oh, as to that, I know not.”  Loki for her part, has been more wanton.  Tony’s doublet is half-unbuttoned, and her hands are inside it, caressing him through the thin fabric of his shirt.  “He has been much away from Hlidskjalf, since the bastard was born.”

Loki’s touch feels so good.  Tony would take her somewhere where he could undress her, and kiss her all over. -- Her, or him; in truth, the form matters not, so long as it  is Loki. But there is more here than emotion, or mere physical desire. “You said Queen Frigga was going to tell him about Morgan?”

“He was gone last night, there was no chance.”

“But when she does?”

“Then Morgan’s life will change.”  Tears sheen in Loki’s eyes for a moment, as she looks at Tony, then she swallows and goes on.  “Lives change. -- Is anyone truly happy, Tony?”

Tony fights feelings of powerlessness.  He would have both their lives truly happy, Loki’s, and their daughter’s as well.  Even if he sacrificed his life for it, he would give them that! But he cannot.

“Hold me,” Loki tells him again.  “I want to be with you tonight.”

This time he gives in.  “Not here though, Loki.”  Whether they have impunity or not, doing it here in Thor’s house would be distasteful, an insult to their love, as well as to protocol.  “Come to the inn in men’s garb, after this is all over.”

“You know that I will!”

The salt taste of their kiss before they return to the party, isn’t just from Loki’s tears, is it?  But from both of theirs.

__________________________

He is the wrong man for the throne!  Every time Thor visits Sif and the baby, it grows harder to leave.  His daughter, his woman: Her spirit is his spirit, isn’t it? They were born for adventuring, for daring deeds of courage, not the dull day-to-day work of the Crown.

Sif is different from how she was before all this started, and yet she is the same.  She has recovered from giving birth now; her figure is what it was, and her manner? “Look…”  They stand over Freya’s cradle, looking at her together.

Thor looks and laughs.  “Did you make that battle-axe she holds?”

“Fandral carved it.”  Sif laughs as well, the sound fond.  “I told him our daughter will be a warrior, like her mother.”

Looking at the baby’s rosy fist holding the little toy, Thor feels his heart melt..  He looks at Sif, and the feeling only deepens. She should be his! “Of course she will.  I’ll see to it myself.” He won’t be able to though, will he? Freya belongs to another, as does her mother as well.  “Fandral’s good to you, isn’t he?” It is the thousandth time he’s asked it.

“You know he is.”  Sif allows herself a moment of honesty.  “He isn’t you, Thor.”

“Do you lie with him?”  It is a question he should never ask, and yet the words are said.

Sif’s face says that she hasn’t.  Thor shouldn’t feel joy at this, and yet it is there.  So much joy. “Freya will need brothers and sisters,” she says.

Those should be his children too!  “Of course she will, Sif.”

“They’ll be along in due time, I’m sure.”  Sif turns from the cradle. “Come, Freya needs her sleep.”

The drawing room is empty when they enter.  The whole house is always empty when Thor visits.  Fandral is never here. Because he doesn’t want to see Thor?  Because their relationship has changed so? He should be sorry, but sometimes it’s hard to see past his emotions over Sif and their daughter.

“Fandral isn’t here again?”

“You’re not at Hlidskjalf either, Thor.  What of it?”

They partake of refreshment together.  Ale, as is best suited for Sif, who still nurses Freya, and a joint of meat.  “As though Volstagg were eating with us.” Thor’s made this comment before. It’s not much of a joke.  Sif’s robust eating habits, so like his own, always remind him of their carefree days when it was just the five of him, and they were friends, having fun together.  None of them should remember that now though, should they?

Sif smiles.  She always smiles.  “How is our favorite wine-cask doing?” 

“He spends much time with Gudrun these days.  I don’t think he likes it.” Another well-worn joke.

“And Hogun?”

“Always telling me to join him on the combat field.”

“He should tell you to be in the Throne Room.  Doesn’t a King have duties?”

“Asgard is safe enough.  No thanks to me.”

“And Aunt Frigga?”

“Mother is well too.”  A familiar stab of guilt, as he thinks of Frigga.  She has been doing his work for him, hasn’t she? “I should probably go now.”  He doesn’t want to leave Sif, oh god, nor his daughter neither!

“You should.”  Sif swallows. Then in a rush, “Fandral will not be back tonight, Thor.”

They lie together, that night.  It is as good as all the other times they’ve done it, despite everything.  That night they are in one bed, and in the morning they wake in each other’s arms.

“We can’t do this again,” Sif tells him.

Thor thinks what a sin it would be to foist another bastard on Fandral.  He thinks about his duties at Hlidskjalf, and about his official child there.  He should be concerned about Morgan, and whether she will inherit Loki’s powers, and be the heir that Asgard needs. -- He should think about Asgard, shouldn’t he?  And instead, he is selfish.

“Never again,” he tells Sif.  “You will make sure of that, won’t you?”

If she can…  If anyone can…

“Of course Thor,” she tells him.


	17. The Schoolboy, With his Satchel and Shining Morning Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All the world’s a stage,  
> And all the men and women merely players;  
> They have their exits and their entrances,  
> And one man in his time plays many parts,  
> His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,  
> Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;  
> And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel  
> And shining morning face, creeping like snail  
> Unwillingly to school.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, As You Like It

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Frigga, Hogun, Loki, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

When he hears from his mother that Loki’s daughter has finally grown into her giantish powers, Thor’s first reaction is anger.  Morgan is a bastard, he’s sure of it. That never mattered when she was merely a girl, and could not inherit the throne. Now though, when she is both male and female?  Will Loki demand that All-Father’s crown go to one who is not of Odin’s line? Almost at once though, his anger turns toward himself. How did he let this situation continue for so long?  A King’s first duty is to protect the succession, and he has neglected it for years. What would Father think of him?

Thor returned late, from the country.  As always when he was with Sif, it felt like the hours flew by.  Dawn came, but they remained abed, only a minute later it seemed, the sun was high in the heavens, and it was nearly afternoon.  Even so, neither of them wanted to part. It was only the realization that Fandral might return at any minute that finally took him away.  He returned to Hlidskjalf, feeling he’d left his heart behind. His mind was taken up with his own woes, and he did not spare a thought for his duties.

He should have thought about them.  There was a state dinner the evening he was gone.  He should have remembered; he should have cared enough to make himself remember.  Who presided in his stead? Who but Loki?

His mother told him this, after his return.

“Was she in men’s form when she did it?”  Somehow this would have seemed an added violation to him.  His mother though, viewed it differently.

“Would it have mattered Thor?  It was your duty.”

Duty is an ugly word to one who shirks his own, and who knows he is shirking it.  Frigga’s words felt like coals of fire, heaped on his head. “Loki was raised to be a King too, remember.  She performed the role admirably, even to doing it as your Queen. I think there were people there though, who thought she might make a good King in her own right.”

And this was before they discussed the matter of Morgan.  Frigga said this was her purpose in speaking to him, but she seemed ready enough to forget it when the opportunity presented for a lecture.  “You have been ignoring your duties, you have been ignoring Asgard. You are violating the bonds of friendship, laying with your best friend’s wife.  You are selfish, you’ve always been selfish, what would your father think of you?” All of it came trippingly off her tongue. Father was always the one who punished him when he was younger, but now Mother seems eager to take his place.  “I’m not satisfied with you Thor, I’m not pleased with you, Son, I’m disappointed in you.”

That was when he responded in anger.  “Loki is taking my place, and she wants to put a bastard on my throne.  What have I done that could possibly compare? Tell me, please.”

An argument would have made things easier.  Then he could have forgotten how much of the blame for all this falls on him.  Frigga did not oblige, however, having no taste for quarrel. “Think about what I said, Son.”  She rose from her seat. “Some decisions will have to be made.”

He went then, to find Loki, probably seeking another argument.  When he could not find her, he repaired to his chambers. The four walls felt like walls of frustration, holding him in.  Loki’s child is both male and female, not an heir however, but a pretender. He’s known the child was a bastard for years, but he’s done nothing.  What can he do without angering Laufey, and destroying the alliance between Asgard and Jotunheim? What was he hoping for, that he left the situation for so long without doing anything?  Did he think that ignoring it would make it go away.

If he’d lain with Loki again, after Morgan’s birth…  Thor remembers the moue of disgust she would give when he touched her, and how he would turn away.  She was his wife, it was her duty, he should have pressed her. But instead he always left, and sought complaisant company elsewhere.

Then there is Sif.  If she had a son… His son, it would have to be, and what about her marriage to Fandral?  She chose that marriage. Just picturing himself telling Sif that she must cuckold her husband, to bear him a son, not to mention giving it to him after birth, to be raised at the palace…  The idea is fantastical, and goes against her entire character. What then though, is he to do?

Hogun is in the armor rooms normally, at this time in the afternoon.  He has a little group of noblemen’s sons that he’s been instructing. “Little Fandrals,” he’ll say, pointing to one more good-looking than his peers, “little Volstaggs,” indicating one fatter, “and little Thors,” indicating the most gifted child, even that bluff warrior being unable to speak of his King without flattery.  Thor repairs to the armory, hoping to find his friend there, hoping some exercise might clear his own mind, driving the guilt away.

From past the door, he can hear his friend.  “Chain mail is fine looking, sure enough, but I like leather better.  It’s lighter, cheaper…” Thor enters, and Hogun looks up. “Ask the King, if you don’t believe me.  Come, Thor, what is the best armor for these young heroes?”

“Oh as to that, let me give you my thoughts.”  It feels good, expounding to the assembled boys.  He explains the importance of choosing armor that will allow for free motion, and teases his friend a little bit, commenting on Hogun’s distaste for showy attire.  The children listen, as though mesmerized. Fine, strapping boys these are. Why couldn’t one of them be his son?

__________________________

It was very late when Loki finally managed to get away from the palace.  The landlord at the inn was abed, but Tony had been waiting up. A rap on the door, then another one, and there he was.  “You look tired.”

He was already smothering Loki with kisses when he answered.  “I don’t care.”

“It’s been too long,” he said, and Loki answered him, “Yes, much too long.”  Six years it’s been, six, long years. All the years when Tony didn’t come to Asgard at all, and then when he was here last year, they had just the one brief visit.  And now… They wasted so much time in talking, both of them worrying about the other, when neither of them can do anything. Tony telling him that he wants to rescue Morgan, and Loki as well, Loki telling him too many times that it’s unnecessary, and finally, last night, all the talking was done.

Last night was for kisses, it was for memories.  Tony’s words were honeyed. “I always think how beautiful you are in court dress, but now:  Loki, you are far more beautiful, far more wonderful.”

Loki savored the words, which seemed to wipe away the lines he sees, looking at himself in the mirror, and all the damage that his woman’s body still shows, from having birthed Morgan.  “Tell me more,” he kept saying, and Tony was so happy to oblige.

“Tonight you look a boy.  I’d think not a day had passed since we first met.  It’s funny, because in court garb, you are every inch a Queen.  How do you do it?”

And Loki playing, responded, “It is my giantish powers.  If you saw how I really looked, Tony.” For a moment, he took the form of a toothless crone.

“Gammer!”  Tony was laughing when he said it, and he took Loki into his arms, wrinkles and all.  “Let me kiss your toothless mouth!”

It was one in a thousand kisses, the beginning of a night spent exploring each others’ bodies for the first time in too long, sating themselves on the touch of each other, as though one night could be enough to make up for their long separation.

Cocks began crowing long before they were satisfied, and the entire inn was a-bustle.  Tony’s friends came to the door. “Are you coming downstairs, Tony?”

“I’m busy,” he called back to them, and then to Loki, “They can spare me for one day.”

The other two seamen knew what was going on, surely.  “I’ve told them this won’t affect Stark Mercantile,” Tony told Loki, “they’re just worried…”  He stopped.

Tony was going to say that his friends are worried about him going to get hurt.  He didn’t say it. Neither of them talked about pain last night, or about anything that might harm the memories of their time together.  It was just that one moment, like a crystalline treasure, like another keepsake to be locked away with the fairings they exchanged, so many years ago. 

And when they finally rose, the sun was high in the sky.  Neither of them wanted their time alone together to end, but hunger pulled them out of bed, and downstairs to seek nourishment.  A joint, a loaf of bread, a pitcher of ale, the same food Loki used to eat on long-ago outings with Thor and his friends. Coarse, common fare.

“I suppose it’s better than what you get at sea?”  Loki felt like Volstagg, with a hunk of meat speared on the knife in one hand, a brimming flagon of ale in his other.  “You told me about that, do you remember? About the ship’s biscuit, and the… What were the maggots called?”

“Skippers.”  Tony was smearing mustard onto his own piece of meat.  “And the men call their captain a skipper too. I suppose that means they think I am as annoying as maggots.”

“And are you?”

Tony’s wicked, playful smile.  “I’m terribly annoying. A positive bilgesnape.” He cut a bite of meat and ate it.  “What I don’t like is court food. Too much seasoning, and you can’t tell what you’re eating.”

Loki couldn’t help angling for a compliment.  “What about court people?”

Tony’s eyes were warm when he answered, “Some court people, I like very much.”

That warm look, and the kisses, and the night they spent together, those are Loki’s treasures, to get him, or her, through another year.  “If I were your King, I would make your charter only for one year…” He said it, but he didn’t mean it. It was a way of saying he didn’t want them to part.  “I would make you visit, at least once a year. You should be glad Thor’s your King, and not me.”

“Should I?”  One of the joys with Tony is not having to explain things.  He looked at Loki, his expression almost coy. “What would you do to compel me?”

“You know my Jotun powers are formidable.  I should transform you into a bilgesnape, and keep you in my trophy room.  Or I’d make you as tiny as a watch, and put you in my pocket. And I’d take you out, and I’d say, ‘Perform for me, little Tony.’”

“A command from my Monarch, how could I refuse?”

The game was one last tiny bit of delight, added onto the memories they made last night.  It didn’t make the goodbyes easier, but it will help, during their coming months apart. And, resuming the hat and cloak he came in, Loki took his leave.  Back at Hlidskjalf, he must resume the role of Queen. He must be mother to Morgan, for she needs him and, with Thor laggard, he must be ready to take the King’s role as well.

__________________________

One of the duties Loki must take up, as she returns, and resumes again her woman’s form:  She must prepare her daughter for her new role. Frigga has to have told Thor about Morgan’s powers by now.  Donning again her women’s garb, Loki goes in search of her daughter. She finds the girl outside, close to the armor room, where Thor’s friend Hogun is speaking to some boys.

“Chain mail takes care,” Loki hears the gruff warrior saying.  “You must oil it. Here, try.” These are skills Morgan is going to have to learn as well.  At nearly six, she is close to the age when Asgardian boys begin to learn warcraft.

“Mama?”  Morgan turns, hearing her mother approach.

“Yes, child?”

“The boys are learning about armor.”  She points. “Do all boys have to do that?”

“And some girls too.  Think of your Aunt Sif.”

“Will I have to learn, Mama?”

“You will.”

Morgan is a child.  There is no future in her mind, but only the present, and before Loki has finished speaking, she is inside the armor room, and addressing Hogun.  “ _You_ have to teach me warcraft.”  She is every inch the Princess, so imperious in her manner that Loki would almost rethink, and declare Thor to be her father.  She is like him at any rate, to this extent.

“Must he?”  Loki is surprised to hear Thor himself, as she enters the armor room.

“It is necessary, I’m sure Frigga has told you.”

“Frigga spoke to me.”  Thor’s voice is short, and he addresses Loki no further, turning instead to Morgan.  “Do you want to learn warcraft then, child?”

“Mama says I must.  And it might be fun. -- You like it, don’t you Papa Thor?”

“Your Papa doesn’t like it nearly enough,” comes Hogun’s voice from the front of the room.  Well Loki remembers how the most warlike of Thor’s friends used to twit his comrades for not practicing enough.  Noticing her entry now, Hogun looks at her. “Loki.”

A slight inclination of her head.  She is Queen, whatever Thor’s friends might think of her.  “Hogun. You will take my daughter as a pupil?”

“My pupils are personally chosen,” the gruff warrior begins, when Thor interrupts.

“He will teach her, or I will.”  Now Thor does look at Loki. “We need to talk, wife.”

Another inclination of her head.  “At your convenience, husband.” It will be a tiresome conversation, but it must be done.  This is one more duty to be endured, for Morgan’s sake.

“I can stay, can’t I?” comes Morgan’s voice.

“You can stay,” Hogun tells her.  “Now, as I was saying…”

Then resumes the lecture about armor and its maintenance, that Morgan had interrupted.  “I’ll bring the girl to your chambers after her lesson,” Thor calls to Loki as she leaves.  “And we will talk then.”

They will talk.  Things will be said on both sides, and Thor won’t like all of them, Loki will be sure of that.


	18. Springtime, the Only Pretty Ring Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And therefore take the present time,  
> With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,  
> For love is crownèd with the prime  
> In springtime, the only pretty ring time,  
> When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;  
> Sweet lovers love the spring.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, As You Like It

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Frigga, Thor, Loki, Morgan Stark, Tony Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Speaking with her son was exhausting, more so, it was saddening.  There is so much wrong there, not just the problem of the succession, but Thor’s entire understanding of his role as King.  He is so beautiful, so charming and talented. How can he be content to be a failure? Is this to be her legacy, Frigga wonders, hers and Odin’s?  Into the afternoon, she tries and fails to carry on with her accustomed pursuits, finally giving up and repairing to her chambers, there to fall into an uneasy sleep.  

Only a few hours have passed, when she is awakened by the sound of voices shouting, somewhere near her room.  The sun angled low outside her window tells her it is not full night yet. Is it dinnertime? Past dinnertime?  Rising from her couch, she follows the sound of the voices. One of them is Thor’s, she can hear now. His voice grows more like his father’s each year.  Just so would Odin shout, when he was enraged. Frigga waits, listening for the second voice. When it comes again, she is not surprised to hear it is Loki’s.

“Why don’t you say what you really mean, Thor?”  One so rarely hears Loki actually shouting. It’s hard to tell if she’s in male or female form when she does it.

“What I mean?” Thor demands.  “Tell me pray, what do I mean?”

“You hate me for being a Giant.  It has nothing to do with anything I’ve ever done.”

Thor’s answer is inaudible.  Eavesdropping is unforgivable, but whatever new differences Thor and Loki are having, Frigga feels she should know about it.  She slips into her dressing gown, leaving her room to creep down the hall, closer to Loki’s chambers.

“...And so what if I laid with him?”  There’s Loki’s voice again. “I love him, I don’t love you.  Did I ask to be married to you? Did I ask for any of this? You’ve always blamed me. -- Punished me.”

“Fine words from an adultress.”  Thor’s voice is at speaking level, but she’s close enough to hear it now.  “Your bastard will never have my throne.”

Frigga hears the latch on Loki’s door unfastening.  There’s time to slip back into a shadowed corner, but she is not as much of an eavesdropper as that.  She stays where she is, watching the door open and her son come into the hall. From behind him there is one more shout:  “Nor will yours Thor, I’ll see to it.”

“Mother.”  Still angry after his conversation with Loki, Thor glares at her.

“A fine way to behave with your wife, son.”

“Fine indeed.”  His face still wears the scowl that must have been there during his argument.  “I never thought to see my mother listening in corners.”

“You woke me up, son.  I could not help but hear.”

Thor’s scowl doesn’t change.  “You should have made your presence known.”  He moves to pass her, headed for the staircase.  “Excuse me Mother, I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going, son?”  As if Frigga didn’t know. “Can you stay and do your duties for one night at least, instead of running off to Sif again?”

He turns.  This surely is the angry look his wife saw, a few minutes before.  “Mind your own business, Mother.”

“You’ll walk away then?  Why not just hand your crown over to Loki personally?”

Thor stills.  “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

There seems no point in talking to Thor, right now.  Frigga turns away, moving to knock on Loki’s door, and speak to her daughter in-law instead.  Her son, however, follows her. “Mother, you _will_ explain what you meant.”

Frigga looks at him.  “Will I?”

Loki, in male form, opens the door.  “Frigga?”  

Thor reaches past Frigga, shoving the door closed again before his wife has finished opening it.  “You started this, Mother. Now we will finish it. What did you mean?”

The most shaming scene imaginable:  Not just the King and Queen shouting at each other in private chambers, but now Thor has to shout again, out here in the hallway?  His father would have died sooner than to behave so. “Not here,” Frigga admonishes.

“Yes, Mother.  Right here, right now.”

“Undignified.”  Frigga is going to be forced into Odin’s role, isn’t she?  She must give her son the discipline he won’t give himself.  He is an adult, he should not need his parents telling him what to do.  “Childish. You allowed this present situation through your own lackadaisical ways.  Now you throw a tantrum, as though that will solve it?”

Thor folds his arms, looking at her.  “Speak your piece quickly Mother, and your ‘scene’ will sooner be over.  You said I am giving my throne to Loki. Because I am gone so often? How, pray, am I to stay, when she makes my home insupportable?”

Because he is King? Shouldn’t that be reason enough?  Frigga grinds her teeth.  

After some minutes, Thor speaks again.  “Forgive me, Mother. I know it is not your fault that Loki behaves as she does.  Yes, I should be home more, and I would be if I could stand it. Pray forgive me for the fight you overheard.  I was trying to speak to my wife about the succession.”

What does it say about her son, that Frigga cannot imagine he had anything very valuable to say on the subject?  What does it say about her and Odin’s parenting, that they didn’t raise their son to deal better, with the problems of kingship?  “Was anything decided?”

Thor sighs.  “You heard us, Mother.  It was not.”

It wasn’t, because neither Thor nor Loki is willing to consider the obvious, easiest resolution for their dilemma.  Countless kings have lain with queens they hated, and thus sired their heirs. Nothing will satisfy these children, but that they should have love.  Love should never triumph over duty. 

“You know you must father a son on Loki, or else accept Morgan as your heir.” Frigga is only pointing out the obvious.  “Come son.” She gestures toward the staircase. “If you must leave, let me walk you to the door. “You know you can’t be gone all the time.  One day you will come home and find your wife in her men’s form, reigning as King in your stead.”

“A coup?”  Thor sighs again, deeper, this time.  “Would that be so terrible, Mother? I’m not a very good King.”

This is a troubling way for a king to talk.  Any king, but especially Thor, Odin’s beloved son.  He took so much pride in him. “Don’t talk nonsense.”  Even as she says the words, Frigga feels that they fall on deaf ears, and her disquiet grows.  “What would you do if Loki took the crown away from you?”

They are at the front door now.  Thor turns a look of sadness mixed with shame toward his mother.  “I suppose I would throw a tantrum,” he says, his words heavy. “Isn’t that what I always do, Mother?”  He opens the door. “Forgive me for leaving. There will only be another fight, if I stay.”

Is Thor really ready to give up his own throne?  Surely he would never dishonor Odin’s memory so? All of what seemed reality just minutes ago, has been suddenly upended.  Her son was shouting that he would never let a bastard have his crown. Now is he willing to cede it entirely? This must be a transitory mood.

Downstairs now, she is accosted by servants.  “Will Your Majesty be requiring dinner? Who will attend?”

“Set the table for the Queen and her daughter, as well as myself.”  Frigga thinks about her son, and sighs. If he’s not careful, there will soon be no place for him at Hlidskjalf, nor any crown either.

__________________________

One grows older, and suddenly there are so many important changes in one’s life.  Morgan was five, which is a mere child. Now though her birthday has not yet come, it feels she is already six, and grown up.  So much is already changing, just in the past few weeks.

First there were her new powers.  All those years, Mama Loki kept dinning it into her head:  “Watch Morgan, Morgan you’ll do this too someday.” Now someday is here, and it is more glorious than she could have imagined.  And, most wonderful of all: Showing her new skills off to her family. How surprised Grandma Frigga was the first time she changed.  And how delighted. “Oh, now so many things will change.” She said it to Mama Loki, but Morgan was there, she heard. “She’s an heir now, heir to the throne of Asgard.”  Grandma told Morgan she was just talking about Jotunheim, because that’s how adults are, they’re always pretending children don’t understand things. She wasn’t, though, she was talking about Asgard, and Papa Thor’s throne.

There’s something about Asgard; Morgan’s been hearing about it her whole life.  For some reason she wasn’t supposed to inherit Papa Thor’s crown, but now she can.  Because she’s a boy now? As well as a girl? At any rate though, that was Grandma Frigga, who now wants to spend so much more time with Morgan than she used to, and she wants her to learn so many new things.

Papa Tony was good too, but not quite as good.  Papa Tony made Mama cry when they visited him… The visit was exciting, because Morgan went out in boy’s form for the first time that night, and wearing boy’s clothes, and acting like a real boy.  Mama talked about it like it would be a game, and Morgan would be meeting someone so wonderful. Then when they got there, right away Papa Tony made Mama cry. He was nice though, in some ways. And he was quite impressed when Morgan transformed to please him.

Morgan had some questions about Papa Tony, after they visited him at the inn, though she has not asked them of Mama, not yet.  Why did he talk so much about her being “safe?” Isn’t she always safe? Why did he spend so much time talking about “people of different stations?”  What was that about? Most importantly, why did he make Mama Loki cry? He’d best not do that again when she’s around.

Here is another new thing that is happening:  Papa Thor and his friend Hogun are letting her study warcraft.  “You must be a boy for the lessons,” Papa Thor said, because he knows about Morgan’s new powers.

“It’s not necessary,” Hogun said, “but it would probably be easier.”  He meant because all the others he teaches are boys, and older than Morgan besides.  Big boys are mean enough with other boys, but they are really mean with little girls.  So now Morgan takes a boy’s form every afternoon, and has her lessons. She’s already learned so many new things!

Morgan is thinking about the new things she’s learning today.  This is because Mama Loki tells her that they’re going to see Papa Tony again.  He’s going to take them to a fair in the country. Mama says Morgan may go in boy’s form.  This is good, because if Papa Tony makes her cry again, Morgan will be ready to hurt him. Papa Thor and Hogun say that a chivalrous Prince protects his family.  In boy’s form, she will be ready today, just in case Mama needs protecting.

__________________________

Ignoring his friends’ concerns becomes easier, the more often Tony does it.  He should speak to them, and he knows it, he should explain. Telling himself this, though, is not the same as doing it.  Often, have the words trembled on his lips: “Do not worry about me,” he would tell them. “I know about the pain I’ll feel when I say goodbye to Loki again.  That’s nothing to the happiness I feel now when I’m with her, though. You must understand that.” There are so many times that he’s thought about saying this, to Jim, to Peter, to both of them together.  Sometimes he can’t bring himself to, for fear they won’t believe him. Other times, he stops just for fear of looking a fool in front of them.

Foolishness so often, holds more truth than the best good sense.  They say lovers are mooncalves, and now Tony understands why. True love is lunacy.  Ah, but who would give up a single moment of it for cold, lonely sanity?

This visit to the country fair that Tony has found, is the third time that he sees Loki since arriving in Asgard.  It is only the second time that he sees their daughter. Loki goes in women’s form, the better to make them look like a family.  Morgan, though, is in boy’s form. “Because boys can do more than girls, Papa Tony.” Brows drawn together, the child eyes him. “You’d better not make Mama cry again.”

Loki’s protector is like a miniature version of Tony’s own friends.  “You know I love your mother, and you,” Tony tells the child. “I would never willingly hurt either of you.”

“Certain people are taking chivalry lessons.”  Loki draws Tony’s arm through hers. “From Thor.”

“Papa Thor says a chivalrous Prince protects his family.”

“ _Papa_ Thor should hold his tongue…”  Loki stops. “You mustn’t worry, Morgan.  Papa Tony wants only what’s best for us.”

Morgan will have to learn that for herself.  She is one more of the many people who are being affected, not always for the best, by Tony’s love for Loki.  Even so… What does it say about him that he still would not give up that love? Oh no, not even if he harmed the entire world!

“You may decide for yourself, Morgan.”  Tony kneels in front of his daughter, the better to speak to her ( _him_ ).  “If you see me do anything to hurt your mother today, then tell me, and I will leave.”

“Alright.”  Brows still drawn together in a frown, Morgan allows Tony to take his hand, as they leave for the country.

“There’s no way Morgan could have had two fathers?”  They are walking the cobblestoned streets of the city, as Tony says this, headed for the main gate.  “His temper is just like Thor’s.”

“That would make this too easy.”  As always when he ( _she_ ) goes away from the palace, Loki has become much more relaxed.  The commoner’s garb she now wears, makes her look a suitable wife for Tony; any passerby would think them a prosperous merchant and his family, out for a stroll.  It is clear Loki savors the illusion. As Tony does also.

At Tony’s side, Morgan is a bundle of energy.  He seems to have left his doubts, and his anger, back at the palace.  “Look Papa Tony, look, a bird, a horse, a flower,” he keeps shouting. “I can transform, watch me, watch!”

“Not now,” Loki admonishes, time and again.  “I’ve told him we transform only on the palace grounds,” she explains, “but his powers are still new and exciting.”

Morgan wants to show off for her “Papa Tony.”  How heartwarming that is!

Soon enough, they are at the fair.  After that, Morgan ceases with the suggestions.  Surrounded on all sides by noise and color, the child grows silent, staring around him, with wide eyes.  Tony looks at Loki. “You’ve taken him to fairs before, surely?”

“Not as often as I should have.  They bring back memories.”  

Tony understands, for how could he not?  “All the better for me, then.” He looks down at his daughter.  “Are you ready for some fun?”

Around them, children are going everyplace, completely unaccompanied.  A Princess cannot risk such of course, not even in disguise. Tony does his best to make up, though, giving the day over to all the entertainments most likely to please a small child.  The three of them feast on gingerbread, washed down with cider, instead of the more substantial food an adult prefers. They visit the menagerie, and the Punch and Judy stand, and the merry go round.  “Look at me!” Morgan shouts from atop a black-painted charger. “I’m Papa Thor!” Three brawny men spinning the little ride blow his words away with no consequences, for that is the sort of day this is:  A day for pleasure only.

After the ride, there are fairing booths.  Where Loki was content to visit one, it is imperative to Morgan that they stop at each, and examine every single thing on offer.  Long conversations ensue: A mandolin? A lute? Oh no, look there are poppets! But look past that, at the jewelry. A necklace, or a brooch, or perhaps a comb for the hair?  But look again, there are swords, so many swords!

“How do you keep up?” Tony asks Loki in an undertone, while their daughter grills the fairing-seller about his swords.  “Steel, or just tin? Of Nidavellir make I hope? Asgardian swords are no good.”

Morgan turns away finally, with a gaudy new scabbard belted at his waist, and a shiny tin sword that the fairing-seller has sworn is of the finest steel, forged by the dwarven craftsmen of Nidavellir.  “Wait’ll I show Papa Thor,” he says happily. After sheathing the sword, he looks up at Tony. “Mama’s right, you are good.”

“Then you’re not going to fight me with that new sword?”

“No, I think you can stay.”

If it were as easy to satisfy Tony’s friend’s worries, as to please little Morgan!  For now though, Tony satisfies himself with this small victory: His daughter now trusts him.

From the fairing booths, they range over the rest of the fair.  Morgan must stop to see everything, as it is all new to him ( _her_ ).  “A cattle-seller?”  This is Loki, laughing, after they have just visited three fruit-sellers and a baker.  “Morgan, what can you possibly care?”

“I care, I want to see everything.”  Morgan also wants to see a booth with sheep, and another with half-grown pigs.  He stops at every booth they pass, no matter what is for sale there, and Tony cannot bring himself to stop him, for he is having such fun.  Finally when there are no more booths left, they leave. Tony’s arms are laden down with trinkets, and more gingerbread, and all the other purchases that he couldn’t resist making for his daughter.  Loki for her part, carries Morgan, the child having grown tired after his day of excitement.

“As though I weren’t tired myself too,” she complains humorously.

You could use your giantish powers and transform.  Two birds could be home in a trice, and I’d follow.”

“No, I like walking with you.”

Loki likes it, for the same reason as Tony does.  There are not going to be many times that they get to go about as a family this way, and it feels so good.

“If you hadn’t bought the entire fair for her, you could carry her for awhile.”

“I couldn’t resist.  I’m going to have to say goodbye so soon.”

Loki nods.  “I understand.”  A wicked smile goes across her face.  “I want to see Thor’s face, when Morgan shows him that sword.”

“I’d like to see it too.”  Tony looks at Loki. “Do you ever regret that we met?”

Loki shakes her head.  “Never, not for a moment, pain or no pain.”

Tony thinks about Jim and Peter again:  They know where he’s been today. Maybe when they see how happy the trip to the fair has made him, they will come to understand as Loki does:  Love is always worth the pain.


	19. Open-Eyed Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “While you here do snoring lie,  
> Open-eyed conspiracy  
> His time doth take.  
> If of life you keep a care,  
> Shake off slumber, and beware.  
> Awake, awake!”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Tempest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family needs have gotten in the way of my getting this written before now. I've got a 92-year old father. First I visited him, like two weeks ago, then last week he fell and he was in the hospital for a week. He goes home today. I'm hoping all will be well.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Sif, Loki, Hogun, Frigga, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It’s not Sif’s fault.  It would be easier if it were, but it’s not.  She’s married, and to one of Thor’s best friends.  “Maybe you shouldn’t come so often,” she told him, the last time he was there.  This was the time right after his mother talked to him. Frigga’s words made him angry, all the more so because they were true.  He felt like he had to get away, and he went to the stable and grabbed the first horse he found, and he rode. Naturally he ended up at Sif’s house.

It was so good being there.  It’s always good when he’s with Sif.  And she was just like she always is, and it felt good laying with her that night.  Then the next morning she said to him, “Maybe you shouldn’t come here so often. I like it, but it’s not good for either of us.”  He raged at her, he couldn’t help it. She’s Sif though, not his mother. She just looked at him. “You know I’m right Thor,” she said.  Curse her, she was right. He has to stay here at the palace, he has to try to be… something… But what?

Frigga’s right.  He is no King. None of it means anything to him.  All the devious planning, the machinations and the alliances that are necessary for Kingship:  Father was good at them, Mother is too. Thor isn’t, and he doesn’t want to be. Frigga’s words:  “Why not hand your crown over to Loki personally? One day you will come home and find your wife in her men’s form, reigning as King in your stead.  What would you do if Loki took your crown from you?” She cared about that, she cared so bitterly. Here’s the thing, though: Thor can’t decide if he cares at all.

Since then though, he has confined himself to Hlidskjalf, and he finds himself, more and more, watching Loki.  There are state dinners: Thor should take the host’s role, but he hangs back, taking note of how his wife handles herself.  His wife, who supposedly will take his throne from him. Certainly, she behaves well in a Kingly role. Always, she has the perfect greeting, modulated to the status of each guest, and their strategic importance to Asgard.  How can she bring herself to care? And there is one night when her lover, Stark, is there. She is perfectly bland in greeting him, “Good evening, Sir Anthony. And how was thy voyage? How farest our Midgardian colonies?” The words are cool, and her face:  Where is the emotion? There is nothing there but the role she is playing.

Loki makes no effort to be alone with Sir Anthony that evening.  She seems not to be making any effort to see him at all. What is she living on, he wonders?  What satisfaction is there to sustain her? Frigga would say, “She’s trying to steal your throne,” again, wouldn’t she?  But perhaps that’s just as well. Loki’s temperament seems so well-suited to the hollow pretenses of court life.

During this time that he’s observing her, Thor makes little attempt to interact with his wife.  What a satisfaction that is, especially during state events, when his non-response is clearly a frustration.  “The King and I greet the delegates of this realm, or that one,” she’ll say or, “The King and I grant your request, we refuse your petition,” and so on.  At first she looks his way, waiting. After awhile she stops even looking, but there is an expression that goes across her face. It is helpless anger, and it feels so good!

“You need to stop this.”  It is during another court event that someone speaks to him, not his mother, but Hogun.  Frigga would have nagged. _“You’re acting like a child,_ ” she’d have said, or something similar, “ _you’re embarrassing the realm, you’re handing the throne over to Loki_ ,” all the same things she’s told him so often.  Thor’s old friend though, is worried about him. “You’re making yourself miserable” he says, “I don’t like seeing it.”

And what would he have him do differently?  Hogun’s inevitable advice, “You should get out on the practice field, join me tomorrow.”  These days that means helping with the lessons Hogun has been giving. With nothing better in his life right now, Thor does show up the next day, and he helps him.  It proves to be more satisfying than he would have expected.

One of the children that Hogun teaches is Loki’s daughter Morgan, of course.  That child, a bastard, and a dual-natured giant just like her mother. Thor’s irritation with her has only grown, the more he came to realize the inevitability of her inheriting his throne.  Ever since Sif’s child was born a girl, it seems he’s been angry at Morgan. Now though, on the practice field, that anger begins to fade away.

Now...  At first it is the sight of the child.  Morgan never shows up for her lessons as a girl, but always takes boy’s form.  He makes a stalwart boy. That tousled brown hair of is his Stark’s hair, isn’t it?  And the clear brown eyes are Stark’s eyes. But the boy holds his head high like he is of Bor’s lineage, although he is the youngest of Hogun’s pupils.  He speaks up, claiming his chance to compete with the others as a right, and he takes instruction well.

“Not like that, no!”  This is the first time Thor joins his friend in teaching the children.  Hogun has arranged a bilgesnape hunt for the following day. “You’d better take it seriously,” he says.  “The King will tell you, bilgesnapes are a dangerous foe.”

“I’ll be a bilgesnape!  Then we can practice!” Morgan looks so much a boy and an Asgardian, that this sudden demonstration of his giantish powers comes as a surprise.

“Stop!”  The child is halfway to beast form before  Thor can speak. “Morgan, no!” Touching the boy’s arm, feeling it, both human and animal at the same time, makes his stomach crawl.  “You are a Prince of Asgard,” he tells the boy. “You must behave as such.”

Like water, the boy changes again.  “Yes, Papa Thor.”

No one could possibly be comfortable with this giantish fluidity.  A man should be one thing, and one thing only. But Morgan is still a child, he can learn to behave otherwise.  “Say, ‘Father.’” Thor prompts.

The boy, quick to learn, nods his head.  “Yes, Father.”

__________________________

It is obvious when Sif tells Thor to stay away.  Understandably; Sif’s future is with Fandral, her husband, and not with any lover, even if he is the King.  At first she welcomes Thor’s visits, presumably, then after a time she is tolerating them merely. There comes a time late in June when it is obvious she’s told him to stay away.  Suddenly he is around the palace all the time, but making no more effort to do his duties as King than he was before.

Frigga’s heart goes out to her son.  Somehow assuming the role of King has become impossible to him.  It is not because he isn’t suited for the role, she is sure of that, but rather has to do with his difficulties with Loki.  He believes he would not make a good King, though, and by his behaviour seems determined to prove this to everyone around him.

Loki, who has worked so hard to temper her giantish turbulence over the years, now grows more and more impatient.  Frigga will see looks cross her face when she is with Thor; when she appeals to him to behave, or speak as King, and he refuses, anger will flare in her eyes.  And yet, she does not remonstrate, or speak against him in any way. She just continues to behave in a seemly manner, performing without comment, both his role and her own.

Then one day…  Here is something that the Dowager Queen sees:  This is in late July. Thor has taken to helping Hogun teach warcraft to some of the palace children.  He is constantly on the practice field with them, or else in one of the outbuildings, teaching them to select weapons, or control a warhorse, or some such thing.  There is a delegation newly arrived from Svartalfheim that needs to be greeted. Always before, Frigga has always seen Loki perform such duties as Queen, but today is different.

Frigga is in the sitting room downstairs.  Loki comes in from outside. She has been watching Morgan, perhaps observing her while the child took lessons from Thor and Hogun.  Heimdall, an old and trustworthy adviser, accosts her. “The delegation, Your Majesty. Can you greet them?”

“Because Thor won’t?”  The anger flashes over Loki’s face very briefly.  Then, “Certainly, Heimdall.”

Frigga watches as her daughter in-law uses her giantish powers, changing before her eyes, into Thor’s form.  

Heimdall starts back.  “Your Majesty!”

“We need a King, Heimdall,” Frigga interposes.  It feels an epoch-making intervention, as though she had handed the crown to Loki herself.  Even while she’s doing it, she feels doubt and regret.

“As you wish Your Majesties.”  Heimdall looks at her, still dubious.  Across his face are written the questions any Asgardian would have, were they privy to what has just happened.  _Giants are devious.  Are you going to trust this one to impersonate our King?_

 _I will if my son forces it upon me,_ Frigga thinks.  Her only words though are, “That’s all Heimdall,” said in a gentle tone.  “You may go.”

All-Father’s trusted adviser bows to her, his face still dubious.  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Heimdall will not talk about what he saw.  His loyalty is unshakable, even at a time like this.  He will obey her instruction. She though, she must speak with Thor about what Loki is doing.  He must understand that it is best to trust his wife to rule for him, until he is ready to rule himself.

__________________________

The sight of Thor, pulling Loki’s daughter up onto Sleipnir’s back in front of him, greets Frigga when finds her son outside near the stables.  It is a lovely sight, and a peaceful one. Thor smiles down at the child, and Morgan, in boy’s form, gives an echoing warm smile back up at him.

“Sleipnir belonged to your grandfather…”  Is Thor recognizing Morgan as his child now?  It is more reasonable of him than Frigga would have expected.

“I know Father,” the child says.  “And he was a present from Mama, wasn’t he?” 

A shadow of his old temper goes across Thor’s face, but his words to the child are nothing but gentle.  “Do you remember what I taught you today?” 

“About trotting?”  Morgan’s voice is eager.  “Yes, Father!”

“Let me test you.”

Hope is warm in Frigga’s chest.  She’s underestimated her son, hasn’t she?  Thor had to find his own way to reconcile with Loki and Morgan, but he is finding it, isn’t he?  He is forging a bond with his purported daughter. She edges away from the two of them; she would not want to interrupt their new accord by talking to him about disturbing subjects.

It’s too late for second thoughts now though, for he has seen her.  “Mother?” Thor looks at Morgan with an expression that’s half a teacher’s, half a father’s.  “Look child, your grandmother is here..” 

Frigga’s hope is rising more and more.  If Thor can accept the reality that Morgan is his heir, let him do it in his own way.  Certainly, it appears that he is doing it. The Dowager Queen steps out into full view.  “Morgan, Thor!”

A bright smile goes across Morgan’s face.  “Grandma Frigga!” She (or he, as she is in male form) bounces in the saddle.  “Look, Grandma, look what Papa -- _Father_ \-- is teaching me!”

Thor’s arm tightens around the child’s waist.  “Sit still, son.” There is more of the teacher to his face now, as he looks down at Morgan.  “Remember what I taught you today.”

“A warhorse is a sensitive animal,” Morgan parrots, with the singsong cadence of a perfect schoolboy.  “One must be calm when working with him.”

“Good job son, I’m proud of you.”

 _Son_ …  Just the word warms her heart.  A memory flashes through her mind briefly:  It was just this spring that she found out about Morgan’s form-changing powers.  She told Loki then, “ _Morgan is Asgard’s heir now,_ ” and Loki resisted.

“ _Morgan will choose her own destiny,_ ” she said, “ _I will see to it._ ”  What will she do when she finds out Thor has taken the decision from her hands?  There are two deceptions now, aren’t there? Both Thor and Loki are taking actions on their own, that will affect both of them.  That neither is a bad decision, is that the important factor? Either of them could choose to take offense, out of pique with the other, and so much would fall apart.

It is like her son and daughter in-law have never outgrown childhood.  Will they be forty then, and still looking at her, to resolve their affairs?  Frigga bites her lip. It will be a long and difficult old age ahead of her, if her children do not learn some maturity.  For now though… Well for now, no reason to speak to Thor about Loki’s impersonation of him, any more than she will speak to Loki about Thor’s new relationship with Morgan.  For now, better to hold herself apart from both their decisions, and see if they can find their way on their own.

“Didn’t Morgan want to show me how well sh… -- _he’s_ learned to trot, Thor?”

A nod from her son, Morgan being silent during the adults’ conversation, as a properly trained son should be.  It is only when Thor addresses the child directly that she ( _he_ ) speaks.  “Would you like that, son?”

“Oh yes, Father…  Ah, yes, if it pleases you, Father.”

Thor smiles.  “Well spoken.”  A small touch of his heel to Sleipnir’s side spurs the warhorse into a trot.  Frigga watches admiringly, as Thor and his “son” keep their seats, almost with comparable grace, on the trip around the stableyard.

‘You’re a good student, Morgan.”  She smiles up into the happy face of Asgard’s next King.  “And your father is a good teacher.”


	20. Say That She Rail...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say that she rail; why then I’ll tell her plain  
> She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.  
> Say that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear  
> As morning roses newly washed with dew.  
> Say she be mute and will not speak a word;  
> Then I’ll commend her volubility,  
> And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.  
> If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,  
> As though she bid me stay by her a week.  
> If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day  
> When I shall ask the banns and when be marrièd.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Morgan's new warhorse has his grandfather's name. For the purpose of this story, I'm not going to commit in any way to what Loki might or might not have done to help Sleipnir into the world. He could have mothered him as he does in legend, though. His shape-shifting powers are strong enough.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Tony Stark, Morgan Stark, Thor, Loki, Frigga, Fandral, Sif, Volstagg** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Mama does not like it when Morgan talks about Papa Thor ( _Father_ ).  You can tell by the look she gets on her face when she hears it, and she’ll get in a bad mood if you make a mistake and talk about him around her anytime.  This is because they don’t get along. Papa Tony says that. Morgan talked to him one time about her problem.

They were playing a game together in Papa Tony’s room at the inn.  Usually Mama is there too when Morgan sees Papa Tony, but this time it was just the two of them.  Papa had said, “What do you want to play, Morgan?” and she’d said, “Hide and Seek.” Papa Tony is _terrible_ at Hide and Seek.  Morgan found him when he hid behind the door, and when he tried to hide under the bed.  He didn’t find her when she hid in the wardrobe. He even stuck his head in there. “This is my wardrobe, isn’t it?” he said.  “So there wouldn’t be any little girls in here?” He didn’t see her, even though her dress was a completely different color than all his clothes, and he closed the door again, and went and looked in a lot of other places.  Then finally she came out, and he was so surprised!

After that they had cake and small beer, and they talked some.  And Morgan told him about Father. “He likes teaching me about warcraft,” she said, “and it’s important, because I have to be King of Asgard someday.”

Papa Tony said lessons are very important, and he said Morgan’s lucky, because her teacher is somebody who loves her.  “I was ‘prenticed to a ship’s captain when I was just a little older than you,” he said. “He didn’t love me, he didn’t even like me, and he would whip me sometimes.”

Father loves Morgan.  At first, she wasn’t sure, but the more times she’s with him, the clearer it is to her.  Everyone else says she’s too little for warcraft lessons, even Hogun says it sometimes, but Father never does.  He always listens to her, and he gives her a chance to practice some things after the other boys leave for the day.   And he gives her presents. He gave her a wooden practice sword, that’s better than the ones any of the other boys have, and he gave her her own warhorse.

Papa Tony was so impressed when Morgan told him about the warhorse!  She told him how his name is Svadilfari, and how he’s the son of Father’s own horse, Sleipnir.  She said how he’s too young to ride yet, but that’s okay Father says, because Morgan’s not old enough for riding lessons yet anyway.  “Father says a good horseman is friends with his mount,” she told him. “He says by the time I’m old enough to ride, Svadilfari and I will be best friends.”

“You’re fortunate to get such good training,” Papa Tony told her.  Good horsemanship is important. You can ask your mother about my own riding skills.”

This was when she told him about her problem with Mama and Father.  “I can’t talk to Mama about that,” she said. “I can’t talk to her about anything that has to do with Father, because she’ll get angry.”

Papa Tony looked sad at first when she said that, but then he gave her some advice.  “Your mother and father don’t get along,” he said. “That’s another way of saying they make each other angry, but you don’t have to worry about that.  They both love you, don’t they?”

 _It’s alright if you don’t tell them everything_ :  That was the important thing that Papa Tony said.  “There are some things you have to tell them,” he said, “for instance if you did something wrong, you’d need to own up.”

“And if I get hurt,” she said.  Papa Tony gave her a smile and nodded.

“Yes,” he told her, “you’re getting the idea.  You tell them the important things, but you don’t need to say things that are only going to get someone angry.  Your Mama doesn’t want to hear about everything you do with your father, and he won’t want to hear about everything you do with her.

This is very good advice.  There are so many things Papa Thor ( _Father_ ) doesn’t want to hear about!  He doesn’t want to know when she visits Papa Tony with Mama, or about the shape-shifting lessons Mama gives her.  He doesn’t want to hear about the spellcasting lessons she’s getting now from Grandma. Anything to do with magic just makes him angry.  And Mama doesn’t need to hear everything either, does she? She doesn’t want to know about the warcraft lessons Morgan gets from Father and Hogun.  As the days go by, the little girl learns to keep so much inside, and it makes things easier. She doesn’t tell Mama about taking care of Svadilfari, or how Father always calls her son anymore, and she doesn’t tell Father anything about magic.

Those aren’t things that matter.  Morgan is still Morgan. She’s a little girl, but the Jotun powers she got from Mama mean that she can be a boy too, when she needs to be, and she can be King of Asgard.  She’s learning all the things boys learn, and she’s learning everything girls learn too. How many children are so fortunate? Papa Tony _said_ , “Lessons are important.”  Morgan is getting more of them as any child at Hlidskjalf, and that makes her twice as fortunate.  She also has _two_ fathers, and they both love her, and they give her things.  Papa Thor ( _Father_ ) gives her things she needs for warcraft, Papa Tony gives her books, and toys sometimes.  All she has to do is keep quiet about some things, and really, is that so hard?

Papa Tony had a gift for her on that visit.  He gave her a dressmaker’s poppet. “Full court dress,” he said.  “Doesn’t she look like your Mama?”

“I think she looks like me,” Morgan told him, and he laughed.

“Will you dress like that when you grow up?” he asked her.

Morgan _will_.  This might be hard, when she’s King of Asgard, but she will find a way.  Mama says full court dress is uncomfortable, but it’s very beautiful. Sometimes one must suffer to be beautiful.

__________________________

Spring moves into summer, and then into high summer.  There is no pretense this year, of going to the country as a family, as has been attempted in years past.  Thor and Loki, and Morgan too, remain at Hlidskjalf. They go nowhere. Where during the spring, it seemed that Thor was off visiting Sif every day or so, he now seems to be occupying himself mostly by helping Hogun give lessons to the palace children.  Loki busies himself with the kingly duties that Thor does not do. He, for his part, makes no objection, and Frigga too, holds her tongue, though she must know by now that Loki has begun to assume Thor’s form when performing his duties.

It is entertaining indeed, to take on Thor’s form.  With it, there comes the manner: It is necessary to become more expansive than is natural for Loki, and to speak more loudly.  “A _boon_ , you say?” one must almost bellow.  “My _friend_ , I would be _delighted_!”  The rafters should shake at the volume of one’s voice, and one’s smile must stretch as widely as possible.  And how funny the responses. How the peasants and minor nobles blossom under this treatment. They all go away speaking so happily of “King Thor.”  “King Thor is so kind, he’s so radiant, he’s so _kingly_!”  All the time it is the shape-shifting giant, the much-hated Loki, who grants them his attention and his favors.  What would happen if they only knew?

Once, Loki sees Frigga’s lips twitch as if with amusement, while he performs the role of Thor.  It is the closest he’s come to having a connection with the Dowager Queen in years. After that, he notes the light dancing in her eyes most days, when he’s impersonating the King.  If it were words, she’d be saying, _My son can never be as good a Thor as you’re being._   They’d laugh then, wouldn’t they?  How odd to think of having a relationship of shared jokes with Frigga again, after they’ve been at odds so long.

Summer progresses, a summer that seems made in the pattern of what all summers should be.  Morgan goes every day to her lessons with Hogun and Thor. She goes in male form always, but she does not seem to mind this.  Bright girl that she is, she takes pleasure in learning from them, then returning just as happily, eager to learn more about shape-shifting from her mother, and to learn Frigga’s lessons on Vanir magic as well.  Close to her sixth birthday now, she blooms, looking taller, and happier, with each passing day. Loki allows himself to relax into the habit of enjoying his time away from his daughter, since she is so obviously contented.

Only part of Loki’s time is taken up with the duties of Kingship.  The rest, he begins to use more and more for his own enjoyment. Tony is here still, until mid-autumn when he must return to Midgard.  Loki’s visits to him become more and more frequent, as the summer progresses. These are opportunities for them to satisfy themselves physically at first, both their desires so strong because of the separations the must endure every year.  After their first passions are sated though, it seems it is their friendship that grows stronger. Their connection is mind-to-mind now, as well as heart-to-heart.

“And what duties have you today, pray?”  Loki asks this of Tony, one day in early August.  “Thor” has nothing on his calendar for the day, and Loki has gone in men’s form, to visit Tony at the inn.  It is still early in the morning when he gets there. Tony is with his friends, breaking his fast in the taproom.

By now the friends too are beginning to be used to Loki’s presence.  Where at first they were distrustful, fearing that Tony might be hurt, now they treat him just as they would anyone else.  It is a heartening feeling. As he enters the taproom, Loki sees them looking his way. Peter Parker, the younger of the two, smiles upon seeing him.  Even Jim calls a greeting. “Well, of all people! Loki! I’d never have expected to see you.”

Tony’s face, amusingly, turns a shade pinker at his friend’s railery.  “Won’t you sit down? he greets, though. “Won’t you have a bite or a sup?”

Loki has grown used to the inn’s fare again, over the course of the summer.  He partakes of the coarse bread and dry cheese, sips a small glass of the malty ale, while Tony tells of his plans for the day.

On this day, as on many, he must purchase goods to take with him on his return voyage.  The task is divided, with each of the three partners tasked with purchasing certain items.   Tony sets forth to buy chinaware, of all things, and Loki goes with him. A revelation for Loki, who has lived his whole life amid plenty, to observe how common folk maintain their households.  Tony’s shipments are a necessity apparently, in the colonies of wild Midgard.

Cheap crockery, as well as the finest Vanir china, must be purchased.  At first this comes as a surprise. “These things?” They are visiting a potter’s store.  Loki eyes stacks of blue-striped bowls, and chamber pots, with clumsy painted flowers on them.  “Surely even in Midgard there are potters who could make similar?”

“Oh, these will sell.”  Tony orders vast numbers of chamber pots, huge quantities of everything in the store, it seems, to be delivered to the Mark VI.  “Colonists prefer Asgardian pottery. It’s considered prettier.”

How ugly must the Midgardian pottery be Loki thinks, that this should seem prettier.  He makes no comment, though. The longer he spends in Tony’s company, the more he realizes how vast the gulf is between the lives of royalty, and those of common folk.  Even wealthy merchants like Tony live so differently; they’re content with so much less, and they must do so much more of their own work for themselves.

Not one potter, but many must be visited, and chinaware shops, every one of those the town boasts, or so it seems.  Tony smiles at Loki, his expression rueful. “You must be wishing you’d stayed at the palace.”

“At Hlidskjalf?  Never! I would far rather go with you to purchase chamber pots, and bowls with forget-me-nots on them.”  Loki gestures with a dish he’s just picked up, prompting Tony’s laugh.

“Don’t break things, please!”  He takes the dish, his hand brushing Loki’s for just one moment.  “Your presence will become far too expensive for a poor sailor like myself.”

“A poor sailor?  Pfft.” Their conversation is casual, but there is so much underlying it.  There is love there, and friendship, as well as the knowledge that too soon, they will have to part for many months, and they must make the most of the time they have together.

After all the purchases have been made, they return to Hlidskjalf.  Incredibly, this has become a fairly common occurrence over the course of the summer.  It seems no one cares anymore if they are together here. Is this because Loki has assumed so much of the role of Kingship, or is it because Morgan can now serve as an heir?  A day may come when this question will need to be answered, but for now it seems it can be ignored. Loki enjoys the freedom he has, as does Tony too.

“What luxurious lives you Kings and Queens live!”  Tony appears comical, eating the dainty refreshments that are Loki’s usual midafternoon fare at the palace.  Rheinish wine in crystal goblets, and marchpane wafers, colored green and pink. Tony’s hand is a huge brown paw, holding such.  He nibbles and sips, like a squirrel, working at a large nut.

“The Wheel of Fortune has placed us high.”  Loki for his part, eats lady’s bread, well buttered, and piled with sprigs of watercress.  “It is God’s will, as even a lowly sailor such as yourself must understand.”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown?”  Tony takes one of the sandwiches. “Uggh, indeed kingship does bring its hardships.  At least they do not feed us on leaves when we are at sea. Have you nothing better?”

A sidelong glance, and the evocation of stories Tony told him in years past.  “Cook might be able to procure you some ship’s biscuit with skippers. Shall I ask him, Tony?”

On this afternoon, they are interrupted while they’re at table.  Heimdall enters the sitting room. “Your Majesty, there is an emergency petition.”

Loki throws a humorous glance toward Tony.  “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, indeed.”  He rises. “I’m sure this will not take long.”

It was the suddenness that day, that made him neglect taking Thor’s form before going to his duties.  He was already in men’s form, and he’d been going about as a man the entire summer, he was well known to all in the city, in this, his true form.  As he expects, things go perfectly well. The man, a peasant who had been injured, driving his flock through town, goes away with a few coins, to keep his family alive until he can work again.  Loki returns to Tony, and their afternoon continues from where it was left off.

Afterward, no one made comment at all about this change in the usual routine.  Loki did more and more of his duties in his own male form, rather than assuming Thor’s.  Frigga must have known, but she said not a word, satisfied no doubt, just to have someone doing them.  As for Thor, did he know? Did anyone tell him? Loki knew not, nor did he care. Enough that Thor could have known had he chosen to.  If he did not, that was his concern, not Loki’s.

__________________________

At first after they were married, it did seem that Sif meant to give the marriage a good try.  Life was easy back then, though she was carrying Thor’s child. She seemed really to be giving her future over to Fandral.  There were hours they spent together, days, even. Good days, of simple pleasures and camaraderie. He made the effort to stay home with her, as a good husband should.  She for her part, spoke not of the past, nor of Thor. In those days, their conversation was of the future, of their future together.

Even when Thor started visiting, every day it seemed sometimes, after Freya was born, still their household remained fairly peaceful.  “Fandral, you must leave. Please, can’t you find an excuse?” she’d say. Though he’d make no remonstrance, still she’d add, “He’s the King, you understand, I can’t turn him away.”

He’d return after Thor left again, and Sif would always be in a good mood.  No man wishes the life of a cuckold, but there is at least some dignity, when the other man is the King.  And with Sif’s gratitude, and this small sop to his own vanity as comfort, Fandral managed to pass the first months after Freya was born.  April went by in peace, and May and June as well.

In July, Sif told Thor she didn’t want him to visit anymore.  She spoke to Fandral right after she did it. “It was the right thing to do,” she said, “wasn’t it?”

“Indeed wife, a King cannot ignore his duties for too long.”

Then, right after she’d sent Thor away, Sif was so grateful for his agreement.  She seemed to feel she’d done the right thing, that her proper course was to try to be Fandral’s wife in truth, and not in name only.  How soon was it that things changed? Was it weeks later, or days only?

August comes, and he is living with a virago.  Nothing satisfies his wife anymore, naught he does, nor any word he gives her.  “It is the way women are,” Volstagg tells him. Fandral has sought out the company of his old friend like a refuge.  They are at an inn together, in the town closest to the house he shares with Sif. As always with Volstagg, much ale is being drunk, and much food consumed, along with the railery that was always his wont.  “My Gudrun is the same way.” The stout warrior has a brimming tankard in one big hand, a half-eaten joint of meat in the other. “Why, there are times she won’t let me near her.”

Fandral too, attempts to behave as he did in his bachelor days.  He eyes the serving wench as she passes, though she is blowsy, and close to forty.  “No doubt you are right my friend.” 

“It is the bairns that do it,” Volstagg says through a great mouthful of meat.  “My Gudrun was fine, until ours started coming. Your little one is keeping Sif up at night, isn’t she?”

She isn’t, or Fandral would have seen it.  Freya is the most peaceable of children, content to lie smiling in her cradle, until someone pays attention to her and makes her gurgle with laughter.  “If you say so,” he murmurs though, and that’s enough for his old friend.

“I say so!”  Volstagg swallows half his mug of ale, and belches mightily.  “Newlywed days are short-lived, and never survive the arrival of children.  Now is the time to seek compensation elsewhere. Plenty of wenches for you in this world, Fandral, and plenty of ale to be drunk.”

Plenty of wenches indeed, plenty of ale too, and plenty of feasts to be had, at this or other inns.  Plenty of old friends who are happy to pretend they’re still bachelors with him, but at the end of the evening, he must still go home to Sif.  She who was once his friend, is now almost an enemy, and that is not Freya’s fault, nor is it his. Is it anyone’s fault, really? Sif surely did try to be a good wife to him.

Sif doesn’t belong with him, that’s the problem.  She should be with Thor, as he should be with her.  A man cannot come home and tell his wife to go to another man, though.  He cannot, when that other man must stay with his own wife, as Thor must, with Loki.  “The alliance with Jotunheim…” How many times did all the Warriors Three hear Thor complaining about that contract that his father made with Laufey, and how he can never break it?  What is he to do, go home and tell Sif, “Break up Thor’s marriage, that is the only thing keeping two realms at peace”? “Throw Asgard into a war”? “Let innocent soldiers die, that I may have peace in my home”?

Instead, at the end of each evening with Volstagg, Fandral will return to his home that is not a home.  “Good evening wife,” he’ll murmur, and sometimes she’ll respond.

“I suppose it never occurs to you that I’d like an evening out once in awhile?”

No point mentioning that the servants could look after Freya, and she could go wherever she wished.  “How was our daughter today?” he’ll ask instead.

 “ _My_ daughter,” Sif always says.  “She’s fine, she’s a baby, she has no troubles.”

“And did she do anything interesting today?”

Normally this question will bring a nasty look from his wife, and a cutting response.  “She lay on her back and sucked a sugar-teat, since you must know. And I believe she made shit this morning in her commode.  Shall I find out?”

Nothing to say…  To that, or to his wife in general, for that matter.  Nothing at all, not today, not any day, and is this all he can look forward to for the rest of his life?  The fate of the Asgard-Jotunheim alliance is beginning to seem less and less important, compared with the chance of some peace at home.  Sif needs to be with Thor, whom she loves, and soon Fandral will tell her so. For now, though, he has not. For now he merely meets Volstagg at the inn most evenings, and they share some ale, and talk of the trials of married life.

“It is just like Gudrun and me,” Volstagg will always say.

 _It is not,_ Fandral will think, _not at all the same, my old friend._


	21. Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macbeth: “If we should fail?”  
> Lady Macbeth: “We fail? But screw your courage to the sticking place, and we'll not fail.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Macbeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The pronouns for Loki and Morgan are sort of all over the place in this chapter, even more than usual. Other people are narrating the events, using the genders they see for each of the characters.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Sif, Fandral, Frigga, Thor, Loki, Tony Stark, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Part of her knows Fandral was not to blame for his outburst.  Part of her understands that she pushed him to it with her own behavior.  Part of her, and not a small part, respects him the more for having spoken out.  Sif is well aware she’s been treating him abominably for the past few months.

The country house is her father’s property.  She could have refused to leave. What would have been the point though?  The marriage which was supposed to provide security instead has become a trap over the months they have spent together.  Husband and wife alike were both prisoners. Better to get out and risk chance. At worst, Freya will still have Fandral’s name to protect her, while Sif trusts in her own ability to protect herself.  And at best…

Thor has an heir now.  Loki’s old pretense that she will _not_ let her daughter be forced into the role of King was never more than mere bluster.  The girl will want the throne. Who wouldn’t? She’ll do what she has to do to get it, when she is old enough.  This means there is now no reason why Thor must stay with Loki, for Morgan unites Asgard and Jotunheim as well as any marriage.  Thor could leave, it is within his power now to take another wife.

Loki never understood Thor.  Those things which are most essential to him, his adventurous nature, and his boyish conviviality always came unnaturally to her.  There was that time when Thor had her take on men’s form for awhile: She would go about with them, but she was a damper on any festivities.  It seems she was always sitting off in a corner by herself, or trailing after the others, a dark green shadow, eyes always hooded, and mouth always closed.  There is no harm in breaking up a marriage like this, which is no marriage at all.

Sif’s horse, a mare chosen for speed, takes her to Hlidskjalf the day after her husband’s outburst.  She comes alone; Freya is to stay with her “father.” The best choice under the circumstances. Fandral loves the child, he will be sure she is well cared for.  Will it be a surprise to him when he discovers how much work there is to tending a baby? That’s just as well also. Let him find out firsthand why Sif has been impatient these past months.

At Hlidskjalf, she leaves her mare with the same stablehands she remembers from when she used to live in town.  Nothing here has changed since she’s been gone, it seems. Here are the stables, just as they were, and there is the practice ground, young noble boys there being trained in warcraft, as they always have been.  She spots Hogun demonstrating the use of a battle-axe. He’d begun giving lessons to the children before she’d left, hadn’t he? Sif notices Thor with him, his own weapon the short-handled axe he calls Mjolnir. Has he begun teaching too?  It will be a satisfaction to him, to pass his skills on to another generation.

Dismounted now, she continues to the palace.  Frigga is there in her usual sitting room. She makes a great show of welcoming Sif.  “And how are you, child? How was your trip? How are your husband and Freya?” Nothing will do but that Sif should sit down for a long chat with the Dowager Queen.  “I’ll have the servants bring food and drink. Would you like to go to your room first, and freshen up?”

Is it a tactful way of giving her time to prepare a story to explain her being here?  There is no need. “I’ll sit down with you now, Mother Frigga.” Sif gives her hat and coat to a servant, to be put in her room.  She takes a seat on the same familiar couch that was always here, always placed at the same angle near the window overlooking the garden.  She smiles. The palace has always been her second home, and even with all that is taking place right now, it is good to be back.

“Fandral and I had a fight.”  Sif forestalls Frigga’s usual tendency toward prying by telling her story right away.  “I was at fault. I do not know if there will be a reconciliation.”

Frigga’s motherly clucking is familiar from the years Sif spent growing up at Hlidskjalf.  It is pleasant, and the refreshments she offers her are welcome after her journey. Iced Rheinish wine to cool her dry throat, bread and meat, to satisfy her hunger.  Tactfully, Frigga avoids mention of Sif’s troubles, but keeps her conversation to easier subjects. Sif finds herself telling the Dowager Queen about Freya, how she’s grown, how she is taking solid food now, and can sit up on her own.  She shows her the ivory miniature of her that Fandral had made just a month ago. Admiring murmurs follow. “Beautiful. She has her father’s eyes, doesn’t she? You should be proud of your daughter, my child.”

That night is the first time that Sif’s seen Thor since she sent him away a month ago.  “I’m sure you’re tired after your journey,” Frigga tells her. “You needn’t come down to dinner.”  Frigga is worried that there will be a confrontation, but with whom? Surely she does not think Loki still cares enough about her husband to fight with Sif over him?

Sif dresses with unusual care, not the comfortable clothing she normally favors, but an elegant gown with a close-fitting bodice of red and gold and a dark skirt that sweeps the ground.  She arranges her hair in the loose curls that Thor always used to prefer, an intentional attempt to outshine Loki, who normally dresses soberly. Then she descends from her chambers to the Great Hall below.

Two things greet her with surprise as she enters.  The smaller of the two: Loki’s child Morgan is at Thor’s left hand, the two of them leaning close together, deep in conversation.  Has he warmed to the girl then? ...To the boy, rather, as Morgan is using her giantish powers? So much for all Loki’s worries about her daughter being allowed to _choose for herself_.  Morgan has made her choice, and Thor seems to be very happy with it.  

As she enters though Sif sees something else as well:  Loki is in men’s form, and she sits in the King’s place, at the head of the table.  Thor is in what should be the Queen’s place, to the left of his wife. At Loki’s right hand is her lover, the Midgardian, Stark.  Sif frowns. How can Frigga… How can _Thor_ allow this?

__________________________

Tony only dimly remembers this new visitor to Hlidskjalf.  Sif was a friend of Thor’s, a young woman who preferred living as a warrior over more customary womanly habits.  She used to be part of the group that crowded around him. The Warriors Three, they called themselves, it was her, and three others, he no longer recalls their names.  Sif and Thor were laying together, weren’t they? Didn’t Loki say that was why she was no longer at the palace?

Sif has all the usual arrogance of one born to noble estate, but without any of the airs and graces that normally soften it.  Her eyes go at once to Tony, seated at Loki’s right hand as she enters the Great Hall, and her face grows hard. There is no attempt at politeness, no “How are you tonight Your Majesty,” for Loki, and certainly no “Well met, Sir Anthony,” for himself.  Instead, she is at Thor’s side in an instant. She is berating him, her voice shrill, “You, sitting here, Thor? In the Queen’s place? Why?”

“Do not mind her.”  Loki has always had a nasty side to his tongue when he chooses, and there is bad blood between him and Sif, as Tony well knows.  “Blood does not always tell; some people have no manners.” Loki would do well to hold his tongue. He and Tony have enjoyed so much freedom of late; does he not know they have it only upon Thor’s suffrance?

Thor, who can be a pleasant enough fellow at times, has a temper of his own as well.  He shows it most when he is confronted. “Sif? You, here?” His face, surprised at first, hardens quickly into anger.  “What gives you the right to address me so?”

“You let _her_ sit _there_?”  Sif’s hand topples Loki’s wine glass as she points at him.  “The giantess usurps your place, Thor.”

All it would take would be for Thor to reassert himself.  He could send Tony packing, he could forbid Loki from performing the duties of Kingship in his place.  It would be a stupid move, as the current arrangement is clearly working well for everyone, but it is well within his power.  Thor’s anger is always formidable, and how much more so could it become with enough goading? He has no love for Loki or Tony.  If he gives in to his rage, it will not be Sif who is harmed.

Loki for his part, though, also has more than his share of arrogance.  He has the casual assumption of security that is natural to those born of royal estate.  If things come to a crisis here, he can always flee back to Jotunheim, can’t he? Rather than make any effort at quieting the controversy, he instead only encourages it with more cutting words.  “Your woman is making a scene, Thor. Deal with her.”

Sif looked a fishwife, with her screeching attack.  Thor was put off by it. He doesn’t really want to change the current situation any more than anyone, does he?  But Loki’s words put him on the spot. They are criticism, and Thor does not like to be criticized.

“She is right, Loki.  You do not belong there.”

“Can you please…  Can everyone please…”  Queen Frigga, who normally has no difficulty assuming control in any situation, for once seems at a loss.  She looks from Thor to Sif, to Loki, and back again, as if hoping against hope that one of them will behave reasonably.

It falls to Tony to be the voice of reason, though it is not his place.  He pushes his chair away from the table. “The Lady Sif is correct. I am a commoner, I should not be sitting here.”

Loki’s voice is like iron, “Tony, stay where you are.”

If he stays, he is a pawn.  Tony is something of a plaything to Loki at the best of times, since their stations are so different.  One thing, when it is play that they share together, though, and quite another now, when Loki would give him orders.

“Please allow me my discretion.”  Unlike the nobles on all sides of him, Tony must remain polite.  He must make this situation better if he can; it is always the commoners’ duty to set things right, when the nobility will not.  Giving a bow to Loki, “I will move to the lower table,” he says, suiting action to word.

Morgan, he takes with him.  The child makes only a small protest.  “I have a wishbone. Father was going to pull it with me.”

“Your father will pull it when he has time.  Right now he is having an adult conversation.”

Morgan’s face shows clear understanding that this is no conversation, but rather a fight, inappropriate, and childish in the extreme.  As with commoners though, so too with children, and when accommodation must be made, it is they who must make it.

__________________________

Thor had forgotten how strange the situation must look to an outsider’s eyes.  Sif arrived, and she was naturally shocked to see Loki acting essentially as King, while Thor took the consort’s role.  It has been easy to allow things to become this way. He never loved the duties of being King, whereas Loki seems to take to it as naturally as a duck to water.  At least by training Morgan to be a better king than himself when he gets older, Thor had been able to feel he was giving Asgard something of value.

Seeing Sif’s face when she entered the Great Hall though, was like what it would have been if it were All-Father’s face.  If it were the face of anyone who remembered Odin, and Bor before him, and knew what a King of Asgard should be. She recognized the wrongness that he’s been ignoring.  How can Mother have allowed such a situation to develop? As soon as the thought goes through his head, Thor is reconsidering. Frigga warned him often enough, didn’t he?  No one can be blamed for this, except himself.

Loki has made a fair enough King these past few weeks, but he is not King.  Thor for his part, has been behaving as if Morgan were his own child born. This too is unacceptable because Morgan is…

Thor cannot complete the thought.  Morgan is what he is, through no fault of his own.  It was not he who lay with Stark, but his mother. Morgan for his part, loves Thor as a true father.  He is a worthy heir to the throne of Asgard.

Stark though:  He is as presumptuous as Loki.  Is there really none other who can protect the colonies of New Asgard in his stead?  Fine if he must be accepted then on suffrance, but for that only. Let him go protect the colonies instead of hanging about here.

It is not going to be pleasant to have to break up the easy course they have all been enjoying.  It is the right thing to do, though. Thor must take the responsibility of being King himself, and Loki will have to go back to being Queen.  First though, he must pacify Sif. He will go to her, he will ask her why she came to Hlidskjalf.

A hope blooms in his chest momentarily:  She came because she could not stand being apart from him, didn’t she?  Is there not some way that they can be together? But what would that be?

Loki has what she wants, doesn’t she?  Her child is to be King of Asgard, he will unite their two realms, which was the reason for which she and Thor were married in the first place.  Now that she has what she wants, can’t she let him go? He will have to ask Mother to broach the subject to her sometime before too long.


	22. Honor, Riches, Marriage, Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno: “Honour, riches, marriage, blessing,  
> Long continuance and increasing,  
> Hourly joys, be still upon you  
> Juno sings her blessings upon you.”
> 
> Ceres: “Earth's increase, foison plenty,  
> Barns and garners never empty,  
> Vines and clustering bunches growing,  
> Plants with goodly burthen bowing;  
> Spring come to you at the farthest  
> In the very end of harvest!  
> Scarcity and want shall shun you;  
> Ceres' blessing so is on you.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, The Tempest

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Sif, Thor, Tony Stark, Loki** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

It’s late summer when it happens.  A small event, and one unimportant by objective measure, and yet it shakes her more deeply than she can admit, even to herself.

Happy has planted his tobacco field over-optimistically, a common novice’s mistake.  Virginia watches as spring turns into summer, and the plants flourish, their stalks growing ever taller, and their leaves branching out, large and shiny-green.  She made several attempts then to offer him help. “Such a large harvest it will be, so much for only one man,” and the like. Always, he rebuffed her. “I’ll manage well enough,” he’d say, “I have some money, I’ll hire a boy.”

There has been something between Happy and her ever since the end of his indenture.  Something neither of them dares speak out loud, but both of them know it’s there. Love?  What is love? This is not the romantic emotion poets sing about to their royal masters. It’s not the lust that brings animals to rut in season.  This is a connection between like minds, it begins as friendship, but gradually grows warmer, as if Happy’s new freedom has caused him to see her in another way.  Virginia would never speak of this, not aloud, not even to herself. It is not her place, for she is married, she would not disgrace her wedding vows so. But she’s aware of it.  When she lies alone in the marriage bed she’s only ever shared with Tony for a few months out of the year, the whole time they were married, sleep comes more easily to her, knowing she is loved.

Happy too, would never have acted on the feelings between them.  He is a man of honor, a friend of Tony’s as well as Virginia’s. He barely allows the feelings to show in his face, giving her looks that are intentionally blank, only his eyes are warmer than usual, as they look at her.  What caused this to change? It was her action. She saw him struggling to bring his tobacco in in the miasmic days of early August, and she could not resist offering help. She had only indentured men enough for her own crop, but unlike Happy, she is wealthy.  She hired additional labor for her own harvest, and sent one of her men to his farm to help.

He went over early in the morning.  Just minutes later it seemed, Happy was there.  “You oughtn’t have done it ma’am. I can handle my own harvest.”

Happy’s pride is her pride.  Virginia knows she has trespassed it unduly.  If she were his wife, her help would have been warranted.  Even another man could have done it, but one who was Happy’s equal, with no such disparity of wealth as exists between the two of them.  His face shows that he is hurt, angered even, by what she has done.

Virginia casts her eyes down.  “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

A scene she saw the day before she made her decision:  It was past afternoon, evening almost. She was returning from a visit to the Rhodes house, and her way home went past Happy’s farm.   She glanced west, admiring a view of his tobacco plants, black silhouettes, against the deep red of sunset. Seeing him still out there, still harvesting, gave her a start.  His face was as red as the sunset sky, and his shirt was black, sweat, mixed with dirt. Something went through her then. It wasn’t doubt of his capacity to finish the harvest, for that she never questioned.  This was anger that he should have to do so onerous a task all alone. Where was the helpmeet that should have been beside him? She thought about the home he was probably going back to: Dark, it would be, with no one there to light candles or start a fire in the hearth.  Nothing but cold food for supper of course, since he lived alone. She thought about her own house, well-lighted, and with supper waiting. Just for a moment, her house seemed as empty as his, and as unwelcoming. Out of that thought came the impulse to send him help.

Thoughts with no words to give shape to them are profitless things.  If something cannot be voiced, does it even really matter?

“I’ve paid a laborer already.”  Virginia tries making a compromise.  “What if you allow my man to help you.  You could help for a day or two with the apple harvest,” she says, knowing he has no orchards of his own to claim his time.  “That would be sufficient recompense.”

It wouldn’t be.  Both of them know this is a way of protecting his dignity, and nothing else.  Happy opens his mouth now as though to point this out. Then he closes it again.  Warmth comes into his eyes like nothing she’s ever seen before, warmth, and a tenderness beyond belief.  “Thank you, Virginia.”

Her own voice comes breathless when she responds, “It’s not more than you would do for me, were our situations reversed.”

That was when he takes her hand.  His warm, callused palm closed around her fingers, and Virginia’s heart feels suddenly like it’s in her throat.  “Virginia…” Happy’s voice is hoarse too, sounding like hers. “Do you ever… Do you wish…”

His brown eyes are holding her eyes; Virginia feels a captive almost.  _Do you wish,_ he says, and that’s all.  Both of them know what he’s talking about.  A moment passes, just long enough for her to wonder what it would be like if she could go to Happy’s arms.  It would be like coming home. Then she pulls away.

“You have your harvest to get to.”  Her voice feels like it wants to shake, but she firms it.  She meets Happy’s gaze, now allowing her eyes to waver. “I have mine too.

“You’re right.”  Happy’s eyes leave hers, and she feels a pang.  They sweep the sky, noting the angle of the sun, and clouds on the horizon that might lead to rain by afternoon.  “We’d best get to it.”

That’s all he says, and then he leaves.  Virginia, feeling shaken to the core, returns to her own daily duties.  What would it be, to be married to someone who understands her as Happy does?  But she is not married to him. For better or worse, she is Tony’s wife, and really, there are compensations, are there not?  Hers would have been a harder row if she’d married him. There’d have been no fine house, no servants, in the house and out. She wouldn’t be going out in silks, daintily shod, picking roses from bushes she’d surely not have had time to tend.  That none of this seems very important right now, is of no matter. One can get accustomed to anything, with enough time.

__________________________

After so many months away, her father’s townhouse feels wrong, shrunken in some way that Sif can’t explain.  Her bedchamber feels tiny and confined, and too quiet. There is no one here, no husband, no friends, and no baby.  She used to grow so frustrated in the country, where it seemed she’d barely sit down, when Freya would commence screaming, and she’d have to go and tend her.  Now Sif misses the sounds of her daughter’s presence, her cooing, the gurgling little giggles she always gives when someone looks at her, even her crying.

After the uncomfortable scene at the palace, she returned to the townhouse.  She called for Rheinish wine to be opened, something to calm her nerves after what she’d seen, then sat staring into the fireplace, empty now, during the heat of summer.  

What was that she saw at Hlidskjalf?  Loki in men’s form, presiding over the dinner table as if she were King?  Meanwhile Thor sat by in tacit acceptance? _Thor was raised to be King._   How many times did Sif used to hear All-Father instructing his son in the role of Kingship, when they were young?  “I must go my chicks,” he used to say. They would have been on his lap perhaps, and hearing stories of his exploits in one battle or another.  Though they’d clamor, more, more, more, he’d put them off. “My duties await me, I must grant a boon, I must receive a delegation, I must preside over a trial.”  Being a King always came first, though there were a thousand more pleasurable things that he could have been doing. How could Thor have grown up not understanding this…  Or not caring?

This is the world turned upside-down, it is life lived topsy-turvy, Queens in men’s garb, presiding as King, and Kings taking the wifely role, and caring for the children.  It is license taken to an unnatural extent. No doubt Loki enjoys her new role. She was never happy as Thor’s wife, and if she seems an usurper now, would she care? Giants must always break the bounds of convention; disorder is their very nature.  What of Thor, though? How can he behave as he does, with the memory of Odin always there to remind him of what a King should be?

Her goblet is empty, and she’s thinking of pouring herself more wine.  After eating so little today though, the wine she’s already had has gone straight to her head, and she’s not sure she wants more.  She should eat instead, but she can muster no appetite, and it is too early to go to her bedchamber.

Thor’s arrival is like a boon; it saves her from being alone with her own thoughts.  He bursts in, bypassing her father’s servant, who has announced him, and comes straight  to her. His arms fold, strong around her waist. There is no discussion of what transpired at Hlidskjalf, or of his marriage or hers, just his arms holding her, and his lips, seeking hers.

After a kiss that doesn’t last long enough, he sits, still holding her.  “I can explain what you saw at the palace.”

Sif doesn’t want to hear him try.  What would he say? A lot of excuses, he’d stumble out weak justifications, giving her that boyish smile of his, that he’s always used to make people give him what he wants.  That smile used to get all of them so many sweetmeats from the cooks in the palace kitchens. It got them out of whippings they deserved, when they’d snuck away from the practice grounds to go play their childish games.  Thor gives that smile to people who would call him away from pleasure, and back to dull duty. Tomorrow, Sif will have to take duty’s role, but for now, she cannot.

“Never mind, Thor.”  At first it’s an effort, pushing away the picture of Loki at the head of the table, and Thor sitting to her left.  After awhile though, it becomes easier. “We can talk about that later.” His body is the warm presence she’s been craving ever since she sent him away a month ago.  His smell is right, not Fandral’s too-clean odor, but the comfortable, natural scent of horses, and leather, and a little healthy male sweat. Sif turns her face up to him, inviting his kisses.  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”  Thor’s voice roughens a little as he continues.  “Everything is at sixes and sevens here, Sif. I know not how to proceed.”

“Do you think I have the answer you crave?”  Sif can’t help but ask it.

His response is an irritated shrug.  “Don’t you know I wouldn’t come to you for that?”  Thor’s hold on her tightens. “I know I need to do this by myself, but Sif, it won’t come easy.”

Complication has never come easily for Thor, especially not when there are emotions involved.  “If you could throw a hammer at this,” Sif teases him gently, and he can’t help but smile.

“Yes, or if it were a matter of charming pretty girls.”  He brushes his lips against her neck. “I’ve always had a way with pretty girls.”

Thor’s arms around her waist feel so good, his lips against her skin are what she’s been longing for, all this past month.  And his company: The ease that comes when you are with someone who knows you as well as you know yourself. He’s undoing her bodice now, soon he will have her completely naked, and it is what they both want.

Before that though, “What will you do Thor?” Sif asks.

A frown crosses his face.  “I’ll talk to Loki, I suppose.”

No doubt it will be an unpleasant conversation; Loki never makes such things easy.  But it’s past time that Thor should talk to his wife. She is his equal in power and nothing will be done without her cooperation.

“You’ll take your throne back?” Sif can’t help but ask.

“I’ll tell her she must grant me a divorce.  After that, I know not.”

They will be together then; it is enough for now.  Sif slides out of the bodice Thor has unfastened. She undoes the ties on her skirt and bum roll, pushing them off, then kicking them to the floor.  Clad only in a shift now, she can feel Thor’s hands all over her. Thor, who will soon be hers in name, as well as in fact.

“You must give some kindness to Fandral for surrendering me.” Sif’s voice sounds contented, appropriate accompaniment to the wonderful relaxation of her body.

“Undoubtedly.”  Thor’s mouth is against her throat, his hands are under her shift, cupping her buttocks.  “None of this is his fault,” he says between kisses, “though I was jealous enough of him when you were first married.

“I know you were.”  Sif laughs softly. “I believe all Asgard knew.”

Thor laughs as well.  “I thought I kept my secret fairly well.”

Thor can’t keep secrets.  It is one of his most frustrating, but also one of his most charming qualities.  “He’ll forgive you,” Sif says, everyone forgives you, Thor.” She turns her face to his.  “Kiss me.”

__________________________

The chamber he has been occupying at Hlidskjalf is one far above his station.  Not in the guests’ wing where he has stayed before, this is just doors away from Loki’s chamber, and Thor’s.  Too much eminence for one born a commoner; the Wheel of Fortune may elevate you, but it can throw you back to the depths of society with a single spin.  But, “Don’t you want to be close to me?” Loki asked, and Tony did want to be close, and for several weeks it did seem that the arrangement was working. Tonight though, he would rather he could go back to the inn.  Jim and Peter would be surprised, but they would not ask about what happened at the palace. How good that would be, just to be in their company. What a relief not to have to explain what he cannot explain, even to himself.

What was there between Loki and Thor?  Tony asked Loki about it a few times. “He knows you’re acting as King, doesn’t he?” he’d say.  Loki would always laugh.

“He’s an ignorant lummox, he knows nothing.”  But that wasn’t true, was it?

It felt as if Thor had given Loki permission to take the Kingly role…  As part of an exchange? In return for control over Morgan’s upbringing?  But he didn’t have full control; Morgan spent hours of the day with her mother, she spent time with Frigga, and with Tony as well.  There was an exchange though, wasn’t there? And both Thor and Loki were pleased by it, until Sif appeared at court, and set the cat among the pigeons.

What happens now?  Thor is King, he has the prerogative to do whatever he wants.  He could reclaim his own duties if he wants them, or he could simply forbid Loki from doing them in his place, uncaring for what that might do to Asgard.  History is full of stories of incompetent Kings, taking action from pure selfish intent and putting entire kingdoms in disarray. Would Thor do such a thing?  Would he even notice the suffering of his subjects, in his satisfaction at punishing his estranged wife? And what of Loki? His temper is as fiery as Thor’s. He administered to Asgard, and he did well at it but, angered by his husband, would he continue to put the kingdom’s needs before his own, or would he too succumb to anger? 

A rap on his door awakens Tony from his thoughts.  The door opens and Loki enters. “You shouldn’t have left the high table.”

Tony looks at him, a commoner, looking into his Monarch’s face, as though they were equals.  “You know I had to.”

A nod from Loki.  “I understand why you did it.”  His face growing dark, he continues, “You shouldn’t have left though, you shouldn’t have had to leave.”

A continuation of the fight from dinner?  “Please don’t use me as a pawn against your husband.”

Loki’s shocked reaction seems completely unfeigned.  “By Odin’s beard Tony, I would not! Nor against Sif either,” he adds, before Tony can say it.  “In my heart we are as equals, you must know that.”

As equals, but they will never truly be equals.  Though their love feels the stuff of poetry, yet their stations are different, and will always remain so.

Tony has not asked Loki to sit down.  He has not thought about doing it; too much lies between them, seems suddenly important, though it did not before.  He looks up at him, searching his eyes. “You know what I am, a merchant, not of your station. You know I do business only at the King’s pleasure.”

Loki nods again.  No reaction to Tony’s distinction between the King and himself.  “Your protection is necessary for our Midgardian colonies. You need have no worries, Tony.”

Does he believe that?  Is he really so ignorant of history?  “Kings have acted against necessity in the past,” Tony begins, only to stop.  If Loki has missed learning this his whole life, how can mere words make him understand now?

“Don’t worry about Thor.”  Unbidden, Loki sits next to Tony and takes his hands.  “His temper will last a day or so, but then it’ll be gone.  He doesn’t want the duties of governance, you know that. He’ll leave things as they are.”

“You think Thor will allow you to continue pretending to be King?”

Loki shrugs.  “Eventually we may need to arrange something permanent.  You’ll be in Midgard again by then, so what do you care?”  His voice, confident at first, sounds hollow by the end, and his face is sad.  “You always return to Midgard.”

“And I always return here again the following year.”  Even to his own ears, Tony sounds defensive. Loki has turned the tables, from shifting focus from Tony’s problem, still unsolved, to his own.  He amends his words. “I cannot stay, you know that I can’t. What would happen to my company if I did? And what place would I have here? Queens’s favorite, or King’s, neither is a role with much dignity.”

“If only we could marry.”  Loki’s tone is forlorn, but his words?  _They make no sense_.

“If only we lived in the Land of Cockaigne, and mutton chops fell from the sky.”  Tony cannot hold back the snappish response. “If only a good fairy would come and grant us each three wishes…  Dammit, Loki.”

Loki should be disappointed, or abashed maybe, by Tony’s response.  Instead, he meets his gaze full-on, and his voice is calm. Sad, but calm.  “I know it’s impossible,” he says, “but it’s what I desire more than anything.”

“A King realizes something is impossible,” Tony says without thinking.  “A first, in all of history.”

Loki’s laugh surprises him.  “You called me King. Did you intend to?”  Suddenly his green eyes are alight, not just amusement, but some of his old joy of living.  “You know I will be King. Thor will allow it. And as for the other? Who knows? Impossible things have happened before.”


	23. Paris is worth a mass.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Paris veult une messe.”  
> Tr. Paris is worth a mass.
> 
> Apocryphal quote by King Henry IV of France. He was the leader of the Protestant Huguenots, until he inherited the throne in 1589. Then he gave up Protestantism and returned to Catholicism, the religion of the majority in France at the time.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Loki, Tony Stark, Frigga, Sif, Morgan Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Though he has never liked her much, yet Thor must acknowledge:  Loki is doing his job better than he can do it. Better than he wants to do it.  What does it say about him, that despite his glorious heritage, yet he has no stomach to be King?  All he ever liked about the job was the love and the adulation. What does it say about both of them, that he, the grandson of Bor, would rather teach small boys to work with weapons, while Loki, a giant and creature of chaos, willingly undertakes the boring duties of governance?

The following morning after Sif’s arrival, he visits his wife in her chamber... or his chamber now?  Loki is but barely out of bed, bare-legged, with nothing but a loose shirt. Her ( _his_?) lover is not there, fortunately.  This conversation would surely be impossible, with an audience.

“Thor?”   Loki looks at him with a cold expression.  “I meant to come speak to you later.”

This is not a conversation that Thor ever wanted to have.  Now that it has begun however, it goes easier than he would have expected.  He looks at Loki, and he sees, not the turbulent face of a giant, but rather someone who has been serving Asgard, though it was not his own responsibility to do it.  Someone who has made no complaint, and said no word against him. By rights, she -- _He_! -- should have made outcry long ago, and yet Loki has simply continued, doing what needed to be done.

And his face is careworn!  Loki was a bonny lad the first time Thor saw him, before he ever assumed the woman’s form he wore after their marriage.  Now he looks older than his years, at least forty, though neither he nor Thor will be thirty for more than a year.

“Loki.”  Unbidden, Thor comes forward, taking his wife’s hand.   

Loki pushes him away.  “You want a divorce, I suppose?  You want to marry Sif? Give a name to your bastard?”

“As for bastards, Loki...”  Thor masters his tongue. “Must the conversation go this way?”

“How else should it go?” Loki demands, his voice angry.  “You have never shown me mercy before, Husband. Why pretend that you would do so now?”

But why should they argue now, when they both want the same thing?  Thor doesn’t enjoy being King, Loki does. Couldn’t some compromise be easily worked between them, with them cooperating, instead of working at cross-purposes? 

 “I came to offer you a co-Kingship,” he tries again.  “Asgard would never accept you on the throne by yourself, but with me there too...”

“Because I’m a giant.”  Loki bristles, glaring. “How do you suppose they’d think if they knew Odin’s son doesn’t care for his duties?”  

Why does this continue to be difficult?  “Loki, do you understand what I’m offering?”

“I understand.”  Thor watches while his wife (?) takes a breath, mastering his own emotions, before he can show a calm face, and speak evenly.  “You like things to be easy, don’t you Thor?” Loki says at last. “All your life, you have taken the easy way, always seeking love, love, love, and never doing more than you had to.”

“You aren’t wrong.”  In spite of his best intentions, the words come only grudgingly.  “I have not been a worthy son of my father...”

This too, provokingly, is still not enough for Loki.  “Shut up about All-Father! If he was the perfect King you think he was, he’d not have left us in this situation.  This is about you and me...” Loki’s hands are fisted, his breath is coming in spurts. He breaks off, as if no longer able even to form words.

What does he want, though?  What can Thor say to him, that will finish this conversation satisfactorily?  “I am willing to accept Morgan as my heir,” he offers.

“Of course,” says Loki, “as long as she forswears her true identity.”  

Is he talking about Morgan living as a man?  But the child seems so happy to do so. What do you want?” Thor asks.  “It is against the law for a Queen to rule as sole Monarch.”

“I know.  Your stupid laws.”

“You just want to throw a tantrum for no reason.”  Thor says what he knows is unforgivable: “You’re acting like a giant, Loki.”

Now his wife will throw him out at once, but Loki.  Instead, he looks up at Thor, and strangely, there are tears in his green eyes.  “I tried to be a good wife to you,” he says. “Though I was not a woman born, yet I pretended.  I wanted you…” He stops, tries again, “I wanted…”

Loki wanted him to accept him.  To love him even, perhaps? Shame floods Thor again, but a different shame this time.  “I wronged you, Loki.”

A nod, no words.

“Perhaps in time you can forgive me, Loki?”  

“Perhaps…  Not now.”

Again, shame is replaced by anger…  Loki is right, isn’t he? Here he goes, seeking easy love again.

“I don’t care if you forgive me.”  Thor takes time over his words, speaking deliberately.  “Suffice it if we can make a compromise, for the good of Asgard...”

“Your realm, not mine.”

“Your daughter’s realm Loki,” Thor emphasizes.

He is gratified when Loki nods at this.  “A co-Kingship, you said? And Morgan is heir to the thrones of Asgard as well as Jotunheim?”  A flare of suspicion crosses his face. “What of your bastard, Freya?”

Sif’s daughter.  She will want her to have a position of importance.  Thor thinks for a moment of demanding that Morgan be betrothed to his trueborn daughter, then pushes the thought aside.  Would he set up another loveless marriage in the next generation? “Freya will do well enough without the throne.”

Loki nods again.  “Co-Kings then, as you say.  And what of Sif?”

Thor looks at his wife.  He sees the calculating face of the giant who used to cause so much mischief for him and his friends.  Loki’s going to refuse him a divorce, isn’t he? Though he hates this marriage as much as Thor does, yet he will hold onto it, just to be cruel?

“ _What_ of Sif?” he demands, fearing that he’ll have to fight Loki after all.

A look crosses Loki’s face that is everything he feared it would be.  It is a calculating look, cruel with the covert, mischievous cruelty characteristic of giants.  Then it passes, and there is nothing but tiredness there. “Have your divorce,” Loki says. “I don’t care.”

Though he achieves all his goals, yet Thor goes away from his meeting with his wife, feeling unsatisfied.  Things will be so much easier now for both of them. Why could Loki not have seen that, and granted the forgiveness he asked?

__________________________

His conversation with Loki in the morning:  “Do you want me to stay?” he said. He was thinking about what might follow the scene at dinner the night before.

Loki’s response was one word.  “No.”

There was going to be a scene, Tony was sure of it.  “I can stay,” he said. “I’d only have to go to the inn, and talk to Jim and Peter.”

Again, Loki said no.  “I can handle Thor,” he said, “and if Sif tries to speak to me instead of him…”  A short laugh, and a nasty smile. “I hope she tries that,” he said.

Tony’s work in the city ended up keeping him until midafternoon.  He returned, not knowing what to expect. Surely any fighting that was going to happen would have finished by now?  He hoped so. Such scenes are bad enough in situations where one has some power, but in the current circumstances? Like being a mouse, trapped between two titans, bent on killing each other.

All seems exactly as usual though, as he crosses the courtyard, headed for the main entrance of the palace.  Thor’s friend Hogun is in the practice field with his group of students, Thor himself is with Morgan, coaching her in the use of a short-handled hammer.  Inside the palace, Tony finds Queen Frigga, taking refreshment with the Lady Sif. They look up as he passes, both nodding to him.

Pleasant nods, he notes.  His mood begins to lift. Perhaps things have gone better than he was fearing.  “You will be in Asgard long enough for the new coronation I hope?” the Dowager Queen calls to him… -- The second coronation?  Things have indeed gone well.

“And for my wedding?” Sif’s voice has an edge of sarcasm, but her words too, bring hope to Tony’s heart.

At the time, the mention of the two celebrations seems to indicate that Thor has yielded his throne to Loki, in return for a dissolution of their marriage.  The only other possibility he can imagine would have been that Thor would have demanded both the crown and his freedom, and this Loki would not have vouchsafed, without a prolonged fight.  When he arrives at Loki’s chambers and hears of the actual arrangement, it still seems a good one.

“Thor and I are to reign as co-monarchs.”  Loki’s mouth has a sour twist as he says the words.  “And Morgan is to inherit the throne after us.”

“In male form you mean?”  At first, this is the only reason Tony can see why Loki would not be happy, since he is getting nearly everything that he wanted.  “I don’t think she’ll mind that too much,” he says, “do you?”

“She won’t mind.”  Loki, from his tone, does mind though.  His voice is full of indescribable emotion.  Anger is there, and sadness, and other things too, things are beyond Tony’s describing.

“It is because you want her free to live in her true form.  That’s what bothers you?” The words feel insufficient as he says them, but staying silent would have been worse.

“You’re right about Morgan, Tony.  She’ll accept the necessity of it. She is a wise child.”

“Then everything is alright?”  It isn’t, the entire mood of the room screams that it isn’t.  But if Loki doesn’t want to talk about what’s bothering him, then Tony will leave it alone.  He would only make a hash of it anyhow.

“I have what I wanted.”  Loki is holding a book, but from the placement of the marker, Tony can see he has not read much of it since morning.  Has he been otherwise occupied, or has he been brooding about this, that he doesn’t want to talk about? “Morgan will rule Asgard, as well as Jotunheim, and I need no longer pretend at marriage with Thor.”

“And yet you don’t wish to celebrate.”  Tony takes the book from Loki, setting it on a table.  “Come, let us leave the palace for awhile,” he tells him, though he is just barely back from a long day in the city.  “We will take some horses,” though riding was never a pleasurable activity for him. “You need to be away from your brooding.”

As always, Loki chooses the tamest of elderly mares for Tony’s mount, and as always, his seat is clumsy, his buttocks soon worn raw from his inability to ride easily, when the beast moves past walking pace.  As always, this brings a smile of amusement to Loki’s face. That lightened expression is enough to erase Tony’s pain, when his lover was so unhappy before. They take the horses out of town, riding for miles alongside the river, before returning to tether them outside of the inn, while they sup inside.

Peter and Jim are abed by this point in the evening.  Just as well, as now Loki does want to unburden himself.  “I care nothing for Thor’s love,” he says. “I knew from the day we met that I had no chance at it.”

“Because you’re a giant?”

A short nod.  “I suppose that was why.”

Loki’s face says he is withholding some of the truth.  A curl of jealousy goes through Tony. Did Loki once love Thor?  Does he love him still? It’s difficult to find words to continue their conversation.

“But did you want him to love you, Loki?”

“I wanted to succeed at my marriage.”  The words burst out, angry, frustrated.  This is what Loki has been holding back until now.  “It was my duty, and I failed. For a time I thought even the alliance would not be salvaged.”

There is no love then.  The relief is immeasurable.  “And now?” Tony asks.

“Now Thor will marry Sif.  And I…” Loki breaks off. He looks into Tony’s face for a long moment, before continuing.  “You and I will never marry. We cannot.”

An impulse comes into Tony’s heart.  He wants to tell Loki that they can marry, that he will give up Virginia for him.  He could compensate her for giving him up, couldn’t he? No doubt she’d prefer a husband who wasn’t gone half the year, one who truly loved her, rather than another.  But there are so many other factors that need to be considered, and he hesitates, and the moment passes.

“Never mind Tony,” Loki says.  “I’d have to marry you in woman’s form anyhow, and I wish to live as my true self from now on.”

“I would do it,” Tony offers, “I would find a way.”

Loki shakes his head.  “It is enough that we need no longer hide our love, when you are in Asgard.  You will stay to watch the coronation?”

“Of course I will.”  It is the least Tony can do.

__________________________

Today Father seems happier than usual.  Morgan is working with Hogun and the boys when he arrives and greets her.  She’s practicing moves with a short-handled war-hammer, that she’s chosen from the different weapons Hogun laid out for them.  Father is very pleased that she chose the hammer. This is because of his own favored weapon, Mjolnir. He wants to inspect her hammer a lot, making sure the head is heavy enough, and the handle is smooth, so she won’t get splinters.  Then after she practices with the other children, he wants to take her to another part of the field to do more work with him.

“Let me show you how to throw a hammer properly.”  Father takes Mjolnir from his belt, lifting it as though it were nothing, sending it through the air so fast that you almost can’t see it.  Morgan is never going to be able to throw a hammer like that. She tries with her little practice one, but she can barely get it into position, and then when she throws it, it goes about two feet.

Father doesn’t get angry, though.  He just laughs. “You must work to build the muscles in your arms, son.”  He looks like he was about to say more, but then he stops. His face changes.  At first he looked amused, but now he’s nothing but serious. “Do you like learning to fight as a boy, Morgan?”

Mama asked her that when she first started taking lessons with the others.  Morgan tells Father what she told Mama then: She’s younger than the boys already.  If she were so young and a girl, she’d never learn anything, for their teasing. This way she fits in, and it’s easier.

Father frowns when she says that.  “You are the heir to the throne Morgan,” he says.  “You don’t need to care what those boys say.” Sometimes he’s said things like this before.  Things that don’t really mean much of anything. Morgan’s going to have to be a boy to inherit the throne, isn’t she?  So shouldn’t she also practice her combat skills as a boy? But Father doesn’t always understand how complicated things can be.  He wants to help, but it’s like he expects everything to be easy. Maybe because it was always that easy for him?

Morgan says what she always says to him when he gets like this.  “Yes, Father.” It is the proper response for the heir to give to the King.

At first his smile starts to come back, but then he frowns again.  “You know, girls can be warriors,” he says. “You could be like your Aunt Sif.”

But girls can’t inherit the throne of Asgard.  How many times has Morgan heard that? Grandma Frigga has told her that, and Father, and Mama too, though she said Morgan shouldn’t care about that, because she will still be Queen of Jotunheim.  Morgan doesn’t want to be Queen of Jotunheim. How many times has she heard Mama talk about how cold it is there? Asgard is her home, she wants to stay here. If that means she must live as a boy, then she’ll do it.  Asgard is worth it.

“Yes Father,” she says though, because it’s the proper response.

After that, things get more confusing.  Father seems like he doesn’t know what to say.  He keeps asking her questions that she doesn’t understand.  “What does it feel like to be able to shapeshift from boy to girl?” he asks her, and, “Do you like being a boy better, or a girl?” and, “Would you like to be Queen of Asgard someday, instead of King?”  And Morgan remembers Father telling her himself that it’s against the law for a girl to inherit the throne, but she doesn’t want to be rude and say that. Good children shouldn’t say things like that, that will embarrass the adults.  Only that’s the truth. What else can one say but the truth?

“Yes Father,” she tries one more time.

Then he gets down on one knee in front of her.  “Morgan,” he says, “I have been unjust to you. I have blamed you for what was not your fault.  You have always been a good child.”

Does he mean because he and Mama never talked for so long?  He didn’t see her for a long time, back then. Is that what he’s talking about now, Morgan wonders?  All of this is very confusing.

“I wish,” he says, and then he stops.  Then he takes both her hands in his. “Morgan, your Aunt Sif and I are to be married.  That will make her your Step-Mama, and you’ll have two Mamas, as you now have two Fathers.”  This good news still leaves some questions, but he hasn’t finished talking yet. “And your Mama is going to be King along with me,” Father says.  “Will you like that, Morgan?”

“In man’s form you mean?” she says, trying to understand.  “Mama will be King as a man?”

Father nods.  “It is her true form.”  With his voice very tender and gentle, he says to her, “Your true form is a girl’s, isn’t it Morgan?  Would you like to live like that? Does it make you unhappy to change?”

Father says it is only a law that girls can’t inherit the throne.  He says laws can be changed. “And people can change,” he says. “Your Mama will be a very good King, and she will show the people that giants can be good leaders, and things will be easier for you when it’s your turn.”  Father likes things to be easy. Mama’s always said that, and it is really true. He likes getting things all his own way, but there’s a thing called compromise. That means you can’t always get everything your own way, but things can still be alright for you anyhow.

“It’s alright if I have to be a boy to be King,” Morgan tries to tell Father.  He doesn’t look like he believes her at first, but after awhile he does.

“You are a good child,” he tells her.  “My good daughter.” Today is the first time Father has called Morgan his daughter, isn’t it?  It is pleasant to hear it from him.


	24. If I Had Freedom in my Love...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stone Walls do not a Prison make,  
> Nor Iron bars a Cage;  
> Minds innocent and quiet take  
> That for an Hermitage.  
> If I have freedom in my Love,  
> And in my soul am free,  
> Angels alone that soar above,  
> Enjoy such Liberty.”  
> \-- Richard Lovelace, “To Althea, from Prison”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't feel like I 100% said what I needed to say in this chapter. I would have kept editing and working at it, but I was half afraid that if I waited too long to continue the story, that my mind might put it into the category of Unfinished. Once I've done that, it's like I never revisit the story again. I've lost some good endings that way.
> 
> What I'm trying to get at here? There are trust issues. I hope I didn't make too much of a hash of expressing that.

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Sif, Morgan Stark, Loki, Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Peter Parker, Virginia (Pepper) Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

The divorce comes first, after it, the double coronation.  Loki is radiant, though this is not a word one uses normally, to describe men.  But there is no better word for him, dressed in a man’s court garb, and standing next to Thor.  His smile is bright, and his eyes flash green. There is a light of triumph in them, but more than that.  It is the brilliance of finally being able to stand before God and man, himself, fully himself, and with no pretense at all.  It is beautiful to behold.

For awhile, things are very busy at Hlikdskjalf.  Loki is always rushing about doing things. Though he spends every night with Tony, there is never any chance for them to speak privately.  Tony occupies himself with business instead. There is always much to do in the summertime, preparatory for their return to Midgard. His mind though, remains at the palace.  Thor will be married, as soon as the divorce is final. He will be bound to the warrior woman Sif, and Loki will be… free? Not free, not really. If he were free, he could marry Tony.

A man cannot marry another man.  The very ceremony prevents it. “I take this woman,” “I take this man,” vows codified by civil and ecclesiastical law alike, vows with no freedom to them, no scope for any modification.  Vows that would need no change if Loki were a woman, if he even took woman’s form, as he has done in the past…

Sometimes it feels that Loki should do this thing for Tony.  He did it for Thor after all, didn’t he? But he denied his true self in order to do it.  How can Tony claim to love someone, and yet demand that he be any but his true self? And yet, the thought remains in his mind, the one thought that he can never say, the demand he can never make to Loki, not now, not when he is finally free to be who he really is.

The day of Thor’s marriage arrives.  First the union is consecrated, simply, in the chapel at Hlidskjalf.  After that follows a celebration that it feels like Thor must have planned himself, it is so reflective of everything in his nature.

As though Thor wants the entire world happy on this, his happiest of days.  What was the celebration like for his marriage to Loki? Formal no doubt, in keeping with Asgardian tradition.  This one is nearly opposite. Clothing is loose and comfortable, food and drink are offered lavishly with food, music is all lighthearted, country tunes, the kine one cannot hear without wanting to dance.  All of Thor’s childish pupils are there, shouting,laughing, running underfoot. Rather than seem annoying as it normally would, their presence seems to underscore Thor’s own boyish nature. Even for Tony, who has been at cross-purposes with him in the past, it seems nothing but endearing today.

Morgan wears her boy’s form today.  She is at Thor’s side through the ceremony, and the celebration as well.  She seems very conscious of her role as Crown Prince, puffed adorably with dignity.  Every moment, she is speaking for Thor, or trotting hither and yon, running errands for him.  She is obviously very happy.

Loki for his part, enacts the role of celebrant almost convincingly, only there is something in his eyes that shows it was mere pretense.  He is thinking too, isn’t he? Are his thoughts the same as Tony’s? 

“How I would like to...”  This is the closest Tony gets, even to voicing his own thoughts, that night.  He certainly breathes no word about Loki’s changing into woman’s form so that they could be married.  How could he ask such a thing? It would be dishonorable in the extreme.

Loki too, never says what is on his mind… whatever is on his mind.  “You’re staying another week still?” This is the furthest he gets.

What was he going to say?  Would he have offered what Tony himself craves, or would it have been something different?  What else could it have been? “You’ll leave,” he said, but what else can Tony do but leave?  His business compels it of him.

“One more week yes, Loki.”  Knowing the words cold, Tony takes Loki’s hand as he says them.  “You know I must.”

“I...”  Whatever else Loki was going to say, he stops before saying it.  He swallows, and something like sadness flashes across his face, before disappearing.  The look that follows is affection, and nothing more. “You like going to sea, don’t you Tony?  It makes you happy?”

It has been Tony’s life since he was twelve.  Happiness doesn’t even come into it. But he can feel that Loki means something by his words, though what it is, he knows not.  Doing his best to answer honestly. “I’ve always done it,” he says. “I would not feel like myself if I did not.”

Loki nods, his face blank.  “As I thought.” He leans very close, brushing his lips against Tony’s.  “You know I love you, don’t you?”

“As I love you too.”  This, at least, is so easy.  Tony returns Loki’s kiss, and after that nothing more is said by either of them.  It’s all still there though, unsaid, maybe unacknowledged even, but all there, lying between them.

__________________________

“Are you going to move to Asgard now?”  Jim must have asked this same question of Peter a thousand times, and Peter’s told him, “You could ask Tony,” but he never would.

“It comes easier from someone younger,” he’s always said.  Even after all their years working together, Peter knows his partners still think of him as a boy.

But the question needed to be asked.  And now, taking the boy’s privilege that is still his, he asks it.

It is the day after King Thor’s marriage to the Lady Sif.  A lazy day, for everyone in Asgard, it feels like; from the crowds that were celebrating all day yesterday.  Tony doesn’t arrive at the inn until nearly noon, and when he does, his heavy-lidded expression mirror’s Jim’s, and probably Peter’s own as well.

No one got much sleep last night, no one wants to do any work today.  Breakfast at the inn today was cold venison with yesterday’s bread, and a keg of ale that one must tap one’s self, the innkeeper still being abed, rather than at his post in the taproom.

“Pour me some?” Tony asks.  He drops into the seat opposite Jim’s, while Peter obliges him.

Jim for his part, is finishing a second tankard, gnawing indifferently at cold meat with mustard, the while.  “Quite a celebration yesterday,” he says.

Tony nods.  “It was that.”

“The Queen is still abed I suppose?”

“Queen?”  Tony breaks a piece off from the loaf on the table, though he makes no pretense of eating any.  “King now, remember? King Loki.”

“As a giant, he could be either one, though?”

“He was born a boy, and he is a man in his true form.  The other is a shape he assumes.”

The conversation is nothing but facts.  It skirts above the issues that matter to either of them..  Jim does not care if Loki is Queen or King, man or woman, and Tony?  Does he care?

It occurs to Peter briefly that perhaps he does.  Tony cannot after all, marry Loki in his male form.  Could he have married him before, though? A commoner, and colonial besides, marrying the Queen of the realm?  This then, cannot be the problem. It must be what Jim has been worrying about all this summer: Loki must want Tony to remain in Asgard.

Tony would be miserable!  He is a sailor born and bred, always happiest when he is at sea.  ...He always used to be happiest at sea, anyhow. Who knows but what he is happiest now, when he is with Loki?

This is why Peter asks, “Are you going to live in Asgard now?” 

And for a long time Tony just looks at him, and says nothing.  Finally he answers, “Loki wants me to, I know it.”

Peter presses him, “But do you want to?”

“If I could make a home here, and still go to sea…”  Tony’s hands are very busy, all the while as he talks.  As though they are reflecting the busyness of his thoughts.  “But Virginia…”

Tony will have to divorce Virginia.  He’ll have to give her something then, some of his own property, made into her name, that she may not be left destitute.  She’ll want the farms, surely, for they have always been her responsibility, and probably the house as well. Once the conversation turns to the terms of a possible divorce, that is when Tony voices his worst fear:

“I’ll give her the company,” he says.  “It is the least I can do.”

Virginia is not going to want Stark Mercantile, but no matter how many times Jim and Peter say it, Tony will not let himself be convinced.  Because this is his biggest fear, isn’t it? He is afraid he’ll have to give up the sea, or else lose Loki. But the ~~Queen~~ King would not demand such of someone he loved, would he?  Surely not.

__________________________

Tony is more restless than she’s ever seen him, after his return from Asgard.  He’s worse even than he was when he was confined here, by the damage to his ship.  As though the most important part of his life isn’t here, isn’t even at sea, where it used to be.  But of course that’s the truth, isn’t it? The most important part of her husband’s life is in Asgard, where Queen Loki is.

When he comes to her, finally and tells her, “I’m giving you your freedom,” it is no surprise.  His expression is troubled, but being Tony, he will not say why. Instead, all he says is, “I’m signing over all my property to you Virginia, the house, the farms, my company.”

He knows that she’ll be well enough without him.  He’s got to have been talking to Peter, and Peter will have told him about Happy.  Not because she’s ever told him, but because Peter is perceptive, he notices things. 

Peter wouldn’t have told Tony to do anything so ridiculous as to give away his company though.  Stark Mercantile, that was his father’s creation? That has been Tony’s deepest satisfaction for all his adult life?  But this is one of his grand gestures; Tony loves them so much. Never mind if it makes sense, or will give any help to anyone.  Sometimes it feels like he cannot see another’s happiness until he has sacrificed something to the detriment of his own.

“I won’t take the company.”  Though her heart is warm toward him, Virginia keeps her voice cool, reasonable.  Tony, who can never feel compassion for himself, always discounts it when it comes from another.  “The farms are mine by my own effort, but by the same measure, Stark Mercantile is yours.”

“I’ve behaved infamously toward you, Virginia.”  Does he mean by having slept with Queen Loki, or by having fallen in love with her?  Does he even know what he means? Shame always comes so easily to him.

“You mean because you fell in love with another, but Tony, so did I.”

This time Virginia couldn’t keep the compassion out of her voice, and predictably, her husband responds with anger.

“I mean because I lay with Loki,” he says.  “And with so many others...” He stops, and she wonders why.  He has voiced the guilt that always comes most naturally to him, hasn’t he?  What more is there?

“Tony?”

“I understand that you knew I was not being faithful to you, Virginia.  Possibly, you did not even care.”

“I did not expect you to fall in love,” she responds.  “But now I’ve fallen in love too, so that is no matter You would give your blessing to my marriage with Happy, would you not?”

“I will, if he’ll have you.”  

He will, of course he will!  

“We’ll do well together,” Virginia tells her husband, “and I think we’ll be happy.”

“I’m glad.”  Tony takes her hands.  “You deserve it, Virginia.  And I still want you to have the company.”

“Why?”  Confused, frustrated even at this point, Virginia pulls away from him.  “Can you imagine me running a shipping company, when I must see to my farms?”

“You’ll be here at least,” Tony says.  “I thought you understood, I won’t be.”  

He’ll be in Asgard, with Loki.  But for God’s sake, how can this be a problem?  “Will Loki make you be with him all the time then?  What sort of love is that?”

“There’ll be no marriage to tie us,” Tony says, his voice low.  “We are both men, remember? All we’ll have is proximity, and if I take that away...”

Virginia thinks about how sure she feels of Happy’s love.  Loki had better give the same to Tony! For all his faults, he surely deserves it.  But if he does not get it, Tony, being Tony, will think it his own fault, rather than Loki’s

“You must speak to Loki of this, Tony.” 

He nods.  “I was waiting until I had spoken to you.”  For all his faults, Tony has such integrity.  He would wait.

“Loki had better give you the love you deserve,” she tells him.  “If he does not, you must not stay with him, but come back to New Asgard.”

He will though, because he must.  If only Tony could see that.

“When will you be returning to Asgard?” Virginia asks him.  It is to be sooner than she’d expected.

“I think I can make the crossing before winter.”

“Godspeed, Tony.”  They share a friends’ embrace, and he leaves.

Their divorce is finalized after he has left New Asgard.  Tony is who-knows-where, when Virginia learns of her freedom.  Has he arrived at his destination yet, or is he still at sea? No matter, she goes to Happy without waiting even for a single day, and they are marriage, a simple ceremony, at the church in Hlidskjalf City.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When that I was and a little tiny boy,  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> A foolish thing was but a toy,  
> For the rain it raineth every day.
> 
> But when I came to man’s estate,  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,  
> For the rain it raineth every day.
> 
> But when I came, alas! to wive,  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> By swaggering could I never thrive,  
> For the rain it raineth every day.
> 
> But when I came unto my beds,  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> With toss-pots still had drunken heads,  
> For the rain it raineth every day.
> 
> A great while ago the world begun,  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> But that’s all one, our play is done,  
> And we’ll strive to please you every day.  
> With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,  
> For the rain it raineth every day.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Frigga, Thor, Sif, Loki, Morgan Stark, Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, OC (Freya), Tony Stark** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Duplicitous is a word that’s come to mean deceptive, or dishonest, but at heart, doesn’t it really just mean dual natured?  Sometimes Frigga will look at Loki: He’s still young, though he doesn’t look it, not compared to the innocent child who first arrived in Asgard, so few years ago.  Then, Loki’s face was unlined, his (or her, as it seemed then) eyes confident. Loki was never talkative, but compared with the silent being he has become now, he was a veritable fount, back in those early days.

By contrast, Thor is a beam of light, since his marriage to Sif this summer.  He’ll never be the King his father was, Frigga has to acknowledge this sadly, but he has his own good qualities.  No one can bring joviality into a room as he does. When he is in a good mood, Thor makes a party of even the smallest event, and right now, Thor is in a good mood all the time.

He is clumsy though, when he would be gentle or solicitous.  Watching, Frigga can see his concern for Loki, which grows, after Sir Anthony leaves for Midgard at the end of the summer.  “He’ll be back next summer then, as usual?” From his face one can tell that Thor means to show concern. Loki’s response, blank, and completely emotionless, wipes away the concern, replacing it with disappointment.

“Then,” Loki says, “or earlier, perhaps.”

“Earlier?”  Thor’s last attempt at lightening the mood.

Another cold response greets him:  “Perhaps.”

Mending a relationship takes time.  Thor, ever impatient, cannot seem to understand this.  Though she recognizes her son’s foibles, yet Frigga feels a pang at the look she sees cross his face, and she feels anger at Loki, for causing it.  She will always love Thor more than Loki. She cannot help it, he is her son.

Summer turns to Autumn, the waning of the year.  It seems that Loki grows silenter as the months proceed, but how can one tell, with a duplicitous creature such as he?  He continues performing the role of King, effectively as always. Beyond his Kingly duties though, it is almost as if he were not there at all.

Little Morgan provides the answer for what is bothering him.  Though not Thor’s by blood, yet the child seems more and more like him in manner.  Whether in male or female form, she goes through her days prattling happily, “Father and I are doing this,” and, “Mama Loki and I are doing that,” and so on.

“Papa Tony will be here for Yuletide,” she tells Frigga one day.  Her artless face looks up at her grandmother. A boy’s face today, though this seems to matter less and less with Morgan, whose true nature shines through whichever gender she is wearing.

Charmed as she never can help being by the child, Frigga responds with amusement.  “He couldn’t possibly have made such a promise?”

“That’s what Mama said too,” Morgan says.  “He said he’d do his best, and Mama said, ‘I won’t get my hopes up,’ but Papa Tony’s a good sailor.  He’ll be here.”

This is what’s wearing Loki away inside, although naturally he’ll say nothing to anyone.  That duplicitous, giantish nature of his does him no favors. Even giants were not made to keep their hearts silent all the time.

After this, Frigga tries not to encourage Thor quite so much in his enthusiasm.  Weeks continue to go by, and autumn verges on winter. She looks at the calendar sometimes, and every time, Morgan’s words echo:  “Six weeks to make the crossing,” the child said. “Papa Tony said so.” Six weeks… Sir Anthony left Asgard in early September. Did he reach Midgard by mid-October, or did it take longer?  And what did he have to do before he left again, and how long did it take, and what kind of conditions has he encountered at sea, since he set sail to come back here?

It’s difficult feeling compassion for Loki, after the two of them have been at-odds for so long.  At first, the emotion is grudging only, aimed mostly at Morgan. The end of November brings the first preparations for Yuletide.  “A big feast, the biggest feast,” Thor says. It is as though he notices the child’s lack of enthusiasm only after he has said it.  “You’ll wear a holly crown like Loki and me?”

“Yes, Father.” 

Thor looks into Morgan’s pale face, then he looks at Frigga.  Then, as though he thinks he has discerned the source of the child’s distemper, “No,” he says, “not holly alone, but holly and ivy, as befits my dual-natured heir.”  

“Yes, Father.”

The second response, as unenthusiastic as the first, puts a scowl onto Thor’s face.  Frigga asks herself, should she explain what’s bothering Morgan to her son? Would it make any difference?  

Loki meanwhile is quieter even than Morgan.  But Yuletide always was a difficult celebration for the Jotnar.  The garlands of mistletoe that will festoon the church during the feast tell of an old legend of a giant, killing an Asgardian prince, and staining its white berries red.  Such stories to hear about one’s people! In truth, there are reasons for Loki’s duplicity since he’s been here, are there not?

A bitter storm blows in during the first week of December.  Loki says nothing of course, but Morgan, being but a child, gives voice to her worries.  “Papa Tony will get here in time, won’t he?” Innocent child, she thinks nothing of the darker possibility, which must be present in her mother’s mind.

“Your Papa is a good sailor.”  Frigga pushes the awareness from her mind, that better sailors than Sir Anthony have been lost in storms such as these before this.

Sir Anthony will be here for Yuletide, he must; it feels like the thing that will pull Loki out of his dark humor, and begin healing for the family.  He will arrive, at the last minute probably; the man always did have much the same flair for the dramatic as Thor. He’ll find them in the church perhaps, feasting on roast boar and spiced wine, in the time-honored way, but there are so few days left, and the storm will not abate.  

“Your Papa will get here when he can,” she begins telling Morgan.  She looks at her son, and she sees how he struggles to make this the celebration he wants it to be.  Then her eyes go to Loki, who seems to be accepting glumly that this will be yet another lonely Yuletide.

In secret, Frigga tells the servants to prepare another holly crown.  “Put it among the garlands in the church,” she tells them. It would be exactly like Sir Anthony to burst in in the middle of their celebration, rain-wet no doubt, and chilled to the bone.  “And set another red robe aside. It can go behind the altar, in case we need it.”

__________________________

Here is something special about this year’s Yuletide:  This year, Morgan gets to celebrate it with her half-sister.  Morgan’s known she had a half-sister for a long time, ever since the baby was born, probably.  She never got to see her back when Mama and Father were still fighting, though. Even after Father married Aunt Sif, at first Freya still lived with her father, Fandral.  She’s only now moving to Hlidskjalf. Freya is a lovely little baby. She’s so cute and fat, with golden curls, and blue eyes just like Father’s. She can crawl, and she can say a few words.  One of the words she says is “Morgan.” 

It was Morgan’s idea that she should take care of Freya during the Yuletide feast.  “Are you sure you can handle her?” Grandma Frigga asked her. “Freya is a very busy baby.”

Freya is  _ very _ busy.  Morgan will have her hands full with her, that’s certain.  But it’s not like she’ll have much else to do. This year she has a part in the ceremony.  She’ll wear a crown of holly and ivy, and serve alongside Father and Mama Loki, as Crown Prince and heir to the throne.  After that though, it’ll be nothing but feasting, like it always is. The adults will drink spiced wine, which she’s not supposed to have, after the few sips that are part of the ceremony.  There’ll be dancing, and boring adult games, and the children will be left to get along as best they can.

“This is Freya’s first Yuletide celebration,” Morgan told Grandma.  “She needs someone who’s been to them before. I can handle her.”

Solstice Day comes.  Uncle Fandral arrives at the palace, with little Freya.  She’s wearing her first short-clothes. “Can she really walk?”  Morgan asks her uncle.

“Yes, and run too,” he says.  “Are you sure you can keep hold of her leading-strings, Morgan?” 

Uncle Fandral says that he can take care of Freya himself, but he wants to celebrate with the other adults, that’s easy to see.  He and Father and Aunt Sif are all on good terms again finally. They’ve all been friends ever since they were as young as Morgan is now.

“I am a Prince of Asgard,” Morgan tells him.  “I can handle an ax, and I’m learning to handle a war-horse.  Of course a baby won’t be any trouble.”

That night she wears a red robe and a crown of holly mixed with ivy.  She is to perform the ceremony in male form, as befits the Crown Prince.  Afterward though, Father has told her that she may resume her usual form. She doesn’t have to wear her Court Dress either, just a slip and an overdress as on most days, so she won’t have to worry about spills.

Father looks very happy.  Father likes celebrations.  Probably he likes this one even more than most.  He’s got all his friends here, and finally there is peace in the family.  Aunt Sif and Grandma Frigga wear ivy crowns, as befits the Queens of the Realm.  Mama Loki, for the first time, wears the holly crown of a King. You can see he’s not happy, though.  This is because Papa Tony isn’t here yet.

Grandma Frigga is the one who explained to Morgan about this, not Mama.  “It’s not a difficult journey as I understand it,” Grandma said, “but it’s a long one.  You told me six weeks in either direction, didn’t you? And he’ll have to stay in Midgard for awhile before he comes back.”

“But he will get back here?”   

“Of course, child, only how can we know when?  That’s why your mother didn’t tell you when he was coming back, he just said he’d come when he could.  Because he didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Looking at Mama Loki, it seems like he got his own hopes up anyway.  Mama Loki has never liked Yuletide very much, maybe because he isn’t an Asgardian born.  Yuletide is an Asgardian holiday. They don’t even have anything like it in Jotunheim, where Mama grew up.  Also, some of the legends have to do with giants, and how bad they are.

One time when Morgan was very little, she learned about the legend of the mistletoe.  It’s not a real story, that’s what Mama says, but it’s also not a nice story: The legend says that an evil giant killed the Crown Prince of Asgard with a weapon made from a mistletoe.  That’s why the berries are all red, and they’ll stay red until the Queen of Asgard’s tears wash them white again.

“It’s nothing to do with you Morgan,” Mama said when she told her about it, “and it’s not true anyhow.”

People talk about it like it’s true, though.  And they say bad things about giants, sometimes that hurts.  Probably it hurts Mama too. Always before, Morgan would be there at Mama’s side to cheer him up.  Now she won’t be though, she’ll be with little Freya. No wonder Mama wanted Papa Tony to get here in time so he could keep her company instead.

When the ceremony is over, the celebrating starts just like it always does.  It’s a three-day celebration, right there in the church. Mama always said that was ridiculous, but of course it’s the Asgardian way.  There’s plenty of roast boar and cakes for everyone, and plenty of small beer too, for the children to drink. The adults drink spiced wine though, as is traditional, and they drink a lot of it, which is also the tradition.  They drink and drink, and then they go to sleep. Mama was right, it is ridiculous to drink so much wine that you go to sleep in the church. No one usually goes to sleep in the church, but then during the High Feasts they do.

All the adults go to sleep, and Papa Tony still hasn’t gotten here.  Outside, the wind has finally stopped, and Morgan can’t hear any more rain falling.  If Papa Tony is close, he’ll get here pretty soon now, maybe even tonight. Morgan would like to stay up and wait for him, but she’d better not.  She’s responsible for Freya during the feast, and that’s still two more days. There’s a cozy place all ready for her, in between Mama and Grandma Frigga.  Morgan cuddles up with them, under the fur blankets. She holds the baby close in her arms, and she goes to sleep.

__________________________

The Mark X, Tony left in New Asgard.  It is a cargo ship, and meant for company business.  This time he wanted something smaller and faster. The sloop Jarvis is sturdy enough for oceangoing, but it’s light, and can be handled by only a small crew.  Tony chooses from his best men, then he makes another choice: “Peter,” he asks the young man who has been as a son to him and Virginia, “will you come with me?”

It will leave Stark Mercantile short-handed for the coming spring, but how often does the Master of the company take up residence with a King?  Tony hasn’t completely thought through the plans for his new life, but he has some ideas: Stark Mercantile will be a valuable pretext. It’s large enough now that having an administrator in residence in Asgard would be an asset.  It will give him some dignity while he stays at Loki’s side, essentially as his favorite. He’ll still make a few journeys with Peter and Jim, but there will be fewer and fewer over time. Tony has a child to think of now, as well as someone he loves, though he and Loki may never marry.  

“He could marry you, Tony.”  Peter said this to him, only once.  “If he were in woman’s form he could.  He loves you enough to do that, I think.”  Peter, who Tony cannot stop thinking of as a boy, though he must be approaching thirty by now, stopped for a moment to think before he went on.  “It would be a left-handed marriage, because of your difference in station. How would you feel about that?”

A left-handed, or morganatic marriage is normally one between a King, and a low-born woman.  At first it feels no better than being the King’s favorite, an undignified prospect for a man.  At first, but over time he begins to be reconciled. There is something to be said for professing one’s love in public, instead of keeping it hidden.  Tony has all of their long time at sea to consider the matter, and it begins to seem appealing. Just the thought of standing in front of a church with Loki at his side...

The voyage goes so well at first that he and Peter are talking of being in Asgard for the Yuletide.  “The same church as where Thor was married to Sif? That grand cathedral?” Peter laughs. “Imagine holding a three-day feast there!  Only in Asgard.”

Only in Asgard, indeed.  That realm of arrogance and ridiculous excess.  Well Tony can imagine Thor and Sif, and the Warriors Three, drinking their fill, and then curling to sleep it off, just below the altar.  He pictures Queen Frigga there as well. She’ll be taking care of Morgan no doubt, training the little girl in the ways of the Kingly role she is being groomed for.  It’s harder to imagine Loki in that picture, though. He’ll be the only one alone of any of them. A King now, yes, but still a giant, still lesser no doubt, in the eyes of many Asgardians.

“No doubt Thor will have doubled the length of the feast this year,” he says aloud though, keeping his voice light.  “We’ll be eating roast bilgesnape for six days, and drinking spiced wine until we’re all as fat as Volstagg himself.”  At the same time, mentally he is vowing to himself:  _ I will be there at Loki’s side this year, for Yuletide. _

A storm off the coast of Vanaheim puts paid to his hopes, though.  The Jarvis is blown off course, and Tony and Peter are hard-pressed to bring it to land at all, much less reach their destination.  They manage to make land in Vanaheim. A hospitable place to visit though, and there are still a few days to go before the Yuletide.

“We’ll buy them all gifts,” Peter says.  The weather is not much better here in Vanaheim, but nothing will stop the Vanir from being out and about.  Their inns and restaurants are still as crowded as ever, as are their merchants’ shops. Peter has been out and made some trades, exchanging their Asgardian coin, and whatever else he could find, for Vanir currency.  “So many gifts, poppets and sweetmeats for Morgan… Come Tony, we can be back at the ship in an hour, as soon as the weather lets up.” Tony goes with him, though he does not want to. What else is there to do while he waits though?  They go, spending all the money they had on trifles and trinkets, while day after day goes by, and the rain continues.

Finally it lets up, late on Solstice Day itself.  Peter, who has been celebrating at a restaurant in the style of Vanaheim, is ready for his bunk.  Nothing will stop him though, from accompanying Tony across the Channel to Asgard. “So I can see Loki’s face,” he says, “and Morgan’s too, when we arrive.”

With the Channel finally calm, it is a matter of a few hours to cross.  The Jarvis is there by daybreak. Tony wakes Peter (the boy wouldn’t have forgiven him if he hadn’t), and they go on foot to the cathedral, with the sun painting the entire city a proper Asgardian gold, all around them.  As is traditional, the church doors are unlocked. Peter goes in ahead of Tony, bursting through them eagerly, crying out, “Is anyone awake?”

A child’s voice pipes up, a voice that warms Tony to the cockles.  “Uncle Peter? Is Papa Tony with you?”

A moment later Morgan is there in the vestibule greeting them, a still smaller girl, barely awake, clutched in her arms.  She gives the babe to Peter, and then runs to give Tony one of her eager hugs. “Papa!”

“My child!”  Tears prick Tony’s eyes as he murmurs it.  “My little Morgan.”

After that, kisses followed, but fewer of them, it seems, than would have been the case that summer.  Morgan is maturing. After just a few, the little girl climbs out of his arms, leading him into the church.  “Mama Loki was waiting for you, but he fell asleep. I’ll wake him.”

“I will.”  Tony kneels by Loki’s sleeping form, touching his shoulder gently.

In a moment it seems, his green eyes are meeting Tony’s eyes, a smile overspreading his face, still flushed with sleep.  His greeting though, is pure Loki. “You’re late,” he says. “I thought you were such a good sailor.”

“It was the bilgenapes.”  Tony’s hand goes as of its own accord, to touch Loki’s cheek.  “They would not let me pass.”

“Those cursed bilgenapes.”  Loki brushes a kiss across Tony’s lips.  “I’m glad you’re here, Tony.”

“I am unmarried now.”  It feels important to tell him this.  “I can stay here in whatever capacity you’d like me to.”

Loki seems pleased, but, “We’ll talk of that later,” he says.  “We have still two days of Yuletide to celebrate.”

“Not six?”  Loki has made room for Tony next to him, under his blankets.  Tony snuggles close, taking him in his arms. “We had imagined Thor would extend the celebration.”

“Can you imagine staying six days in this place?”  Loki gestures around at the cathedral with a little of his old ironic smirk.  “Three days is ridiculous enough.”

Loki has a point.  Sleeping on the hard marble floor for one thing, must get uncomfortable.  “But we’ll still eat roast bilgsnape until we burst? And drink spiced wine until we’re all as fat as Volstagg?”

“Shh, Tony.”  Loki silences him with a kiss.  “There are people asleep here.”

It’s too late.  Sif first, is awake and looking at them and then, soon after, Thor as well.  “Welcome back Sir Anthony,” he says. “I am glad that you were able to join us.”  For good or ill it feels, Tony has come home.


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we shadows have offended,  
> Think but this, and all is mended,  
> That you have but slumber'd here  
> While these visions did appear.”  
> \-- Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

**[Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe** ****  
**Characters: Thor, Loki, Morgan Stark, Tony Stark, Sif, Fandral, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, Peter Parker, James “Rhodey” Rhodes** **  
** **Author’s note: This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.]**

Emotionally, the last part of this story feels like an ending to me.  It leaves a lot of things unresolved though, I know. I’ve tried about a jillion different ways of tying up all the last details, but I can’t make any of them work.  It’s hard for me to write the characters properly when there’s no emotional investment left in the story. I do want readers to know what happens to everyone. I’m going to tell it as best I can, and hopefully it won’t be too unreadable.

Tony and Loki marry of course.  Their wedding is as lavish as Thor and Sif’s, and Thor presides at the ceremony.  After watching Morgan’s reaction to tales about giants at the Yuletide celebration, Thor understands a little more about Asgardian prejudice against the Jotnar.  He’s confident that if he is public enough about accepting Loki himself, dual nature at all, that this will influence attitudes in Asgard.

As it turns out, Thor is over-optimistic.  Attitudes change, but not as much as he thought they would.  Loki continues to chafe at this to the end of his life and, Tony for his part, feels angry on Loki’s behalf.  Morgan though is more practical. Perhaps she learned this outlook from her “Grandma Frigga.” As she grows, she realizes that Asgard wants her to be their King, only.  She spends more time in her male, kingly form, and less and less time as a woman.

There is only one time that Morgan risks Asgard’s acceptance of her, which feels so fragile.  That is when, at age 25, she marries her “cousin” Freya. There is no romantic relationship between them, but it is a love-match in its way.  Morgan wants her “Father” Thor’s line united with her “Mama Loki’s,” on the throne of Asgard. Freya, also a practical girl, is not one to turn down the chance to be Queen.

Thor dies younger than he should, mortally wounded on the jousting field.  Sif remarries, Fandral again. This time their marriage is successful. Loki and Tony both live into old age.  Loki reigns as King until he is 70, then abdicates, giving Morgan the throne. Tony for his part, hands off control of Stark Mercantile when he is in his mid 40s.  Command of the ships and the company goes to Peter Parker, while Tony takes a position as Foreign Minister of Asgard.

As for Virginia, her marriage to Happy is a good one.  They have two children, and continue to live comfortably into old age.  Peter marries, and with his wife makes a permanent home in New Asgard as well.  Jim, though, grows tired of never seeing his friend Tony, and relocates to Asgard with his own family.  They make themselves comfortable on a small estate in the country near Hlidskjalf.

There, that’s it.  That’s what happens to everybody.  I wish I had made it more readable, but if you knew how hard I had to work to make myself write it at all!

 


End file.
